Achilles
by Mixed-Signals
Summary: Kind of AlternateUniverse. What if Achilles was a woman? AchillesParis. Nonslash trust me! full summary inside even though I suck at summaries. No Flamers! Not sure about the Genre. Rating may go up.
1. Unexpected

Well, this is my first Troy fic and to be honest I'm scared to death!

Just to make absolutely clear, this isn't a slash fic. It could almost be called an AU. Well, you might as well call it that seeing how far away from the actualy film it goes.Lol :)

I've replaced Achilles with a female. Pretty much the same character but with breasts. I love putting girls in male dominated enviroments and seeing what I can make of it (I'm an apprentice mechanic!Lol). I've changed it so Paris is captured instead of Briseis. Yep, I've helped him grow a pair! I'm trying to expand on how two such different characters can open each other's eyes. And I want to exaggerate how much Achilles' view of war is altered. I'm not claiming to be an expert on the film or themyth or the history or anything elseso all you purists can cut me some slack. I'm only doing this for my own pleasure so flames are just wasting your owntime. I've had my fair share of those if you want to check the reviews for my one-shot!Lol. So, yeah. There's no need to get all insulting just because this isn't to your taste. Fair enough, you don't like it. But I do and I want to share it. So _back off!_Lol!

The next chapter gets into the actual story. This is just to test the reaction to my idea. If it is actually shite I won't bother posting but if a few of you fond it interesting I'll show you what I've got so far.

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"Achilles!" Agamemnon, King of the Mycenaean's, shouted loudly toward the huge army behind him. He knew his warrior would never fail him. He would have the Thessalonians under his control within minutes.

But only silence answered him.

The Mycenaean soldiers murmured amongst themselves and looked around, trying to find the one that would save all their lives. But no one could see Achilles. Agamemnon frowned in growing anger.

King Triopas smiled. "Boagrius has this effect of many heroes," he said with a air of superiority about him.

"Be careful who you insult, old king," he retorted, not one to be dishonoured in front of any man, let alone his own men. Agamemnon turned with carefully concealed outrage and looked back at his army. Not again!

He was about to call again when an officer rode forward on his horse and said, "My Lord, Achilles is not with the army." Across the plain the army laughs and Boagrius smirks. 'Probably took one look at him and bolted! Don't blame the poor blighter,' they all thought. But they were silenced when the officer continued, "I have sent a boy to look for her."

A murmur of surprise could be heard as the Thessalonians questioned what they had heard. That could not be right. The man hadn't said 'her'. He couldn't have. Their suspicions were supported when their King looked in confusion at Agamemnon and simply asked, "Her?" but they were confirmed when Agamemnon simply smiled knowingly and chuckled to himself.

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Well, R+R. If no one reviews I'll just assume the idea sucks and won't bother you any more. But if you want to read more let me know and I'll be happy to post a couple more chapters:) Take care! 


	2. Unfinished Business

Well, here I am with chapter two. I honestly didn't think you guy's would like this but with the couple of positive reviews I got (Thanks honeyz!) I decided to give it another shot.

I had a go at what has to be one of my favourite scenes in the entire film. See what you think of it and let me know. I really want to improve but I can't do that if you guys stay all quiet.Lol :) R+R

antifangirl: I'll do my best to keep him in character. There will definitely be flaws in there. I don't like him being written as a saint either. Although the "something a little extra" doesn't sound bad!Lol :) Occasionally he will show he has balls hidden in there somewhere but not often. But there certainly will be no damsel in distress either. Keep reviewing!

Queen Arwen: Thanks for the feedback. Yours was the first so thankyou tonnes! I really hope you like what I'm going to do because I've worked really hard on this for months. Keep reading and reviewing. The best is yet to come!

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Chapter 2

The boy rode as fast as he dared on a horse that was far too big for him. He hated being the messenger boy. He was always being made to do things that he was not skilled to attempt. But he had to do it as it paid well and his father was unable to work enough to feed their family.

When he reached the warrior's tent he swung down off the horse and hesitantly approached the entrance. Pulling the flap to one side he entered the dingy space. The leftovers from a feast the previous night littered the floor and empty wine jugs lay forgotten, most turned on their sides, some half full, one or two smashed. On the low bed in the middle of this chaos lay the person he had admired ever since he started travelling with this army, although his young and innocent mind didn't associate it with physical beauty or attractiveness. He only really associated it with her skill with the sword that rested casually across the chair set to the side.

She lay sprawled across the fur-covered cot between two men. There was only the corner of the fur blanket across her hips to preserve her modesty and her dark golden hair was unbound, tangled and sprawling in a similar manner to the rest of her body. Her tanned skin shone slightly with a thin film of sweat, be it from the heat of the morning or left over from the previous nights activities. Her eyes were closed and her soft face was twisted into the beginnings of a frown, a sign that she was beginning to be affected by the pressure of the approaching war.

The boy reached his hand out to rouse the sleeping woman but, just as he was about to touch her, her arm shot out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward and the next thing he knew he had a dagger at his throat. He gasped and tried to pull away but she made no other move.

Achilles raised her still sleep fogged head with only slit open eyes and put her finger to her lips. "Shh," she said then withdrew the knife and lay back down. "I was having a good dream," she said, her voice broken and husky with sleep. She looked at the men on either side of her and corrected, "A _very_ good dream."

Hesitantly the boy began, "King Agamemnon sent me. He needs—."

"I will speak with your King in the morning," she interrupted impatiently, rolling over and trying to get comfortable again, dismissing the boy without a glance.

"But my lady … it _is_ morning. They're waiting for you." He registered the slight change in her expression to one of baffled disbelief, like she couldn't understand how she had slept so late.

Roughly pushing off the arms that were still draped over her Achilles stood and walked to the table, splashed her face with water in the wide bowl and sighed to herself. What a day for a hangover! She quickly dressed and left the tent, allowing the boy to help her just so she didn't have to bend down and aggravate her already aching head. Frustration and resentment were a constant companion whenever she was asked to fight for Agamemnon but this morning it was increased tenfold. And it had something to do with the two extremely handsome and 'skilled' men she had left in her tent. She had an entertaining morning planned for them. But she supposed that would have to wait.

It took her a moment to realise the boy had asked her a question.

"Are the stories about you true? They say your mother was an immortal goddess." As he spoke Achilles continued to prepare, only half listening while she slipped her left arm through the straps of her shield. "They say you can't be killed."

"I wouldn't be bothering with the shield then, would I?" It always amazed her the stories people came up with. They always made it sound like there was something otherworldly about her. They never said her skill and courage was thanks to training and talent. Always thanks to someone else's power. Never her own.

The boy watched as she mounted the horse. He took in her petite form and felt dread over what she was about to do. He had a feeling this woman had finally met her match. He looked up at her and waited for her to return his gaze. "The Thessalonian you're fighting… he's the biggest man I've ever seen." He paused and looked afraid for her. "_I_ wouldn't want to fight him."

Achilles stared down at the boy for a moment before replying, "That is why no one will remember your name." With that she dug her heels into the horses side and galloped away through the woods. As she went she found herself thinking, 'But they _will_ remember mine! Even if I have to personally carve my name on every wall throughout Greece, people _will_ remember me.' She continued on like this until she reached the battlefield.

She pulled the horse back to a steady canter and she approached the Mycenaean army. They parted before her, cheering and chanting her name and for a brief moment she felt powerful, she felt loved and more importantly, she felt immortal.

When she reached the front line she dismounted and walked forward, ignoring the leaders and focussing on her opponent. The boy had been right. He was absolutely huge. But his scare covered body was unprotected and his movements were heavy and slow. The only thing she felt he had on his side was courage. But courage wouldn't turn aside steel.

This was one of the best parts of fighting like this. The disbelief and shock of seeing a woman was the Mycenaean's best fighter. She could tell he didn't know whether to be amused or angry that someone would think to insult him this way. But he would see soon enough.

"Perhaps we should have our war tomorrow, when you're better rested," came Agamemnon's sarcastic voice. As she always did, Achilles ignored him and continued staring down the warrior. It didn't last long as he soon dropped her gaze to look over her body. Men were so predictable. "I should have you whipped for your impudence!" he exclaimed.

Having won her little game she turned her cold stare on the king. She knew this was a man she couldn't stare down. So she did the next best thing. Raising her eyebrow she said calmly, "Perhaps you should fight him." She turned and began walking back to the horse, knowing she wouldn't get more than ten feet before she was supposedly convinced to stay and win this war.

Agamemnon's advisor, Nestor, stepped forward to play peacemaker once again between them both. "Achilles," he begins then waits until he had the warrior's attention, or at least as much of it as he was ever going to get. "Achilles, look at these men's faces." He sees her eyes sweep over the soldiers as they stared back at her with almost pleading eyes. "You can save hundreds of them. You can end this war with a swing of your sword." He left a pause then said, "Let them go home to their wives."

With a sigh, Achilles knew she could stall no longer. Triopas wouldn't wait forever. He wanted to defend his country and his people. Turning back to Boagrius she drove her unnecessary spear into the ground and pushed her helm onto her head. Her voice dripping with spite she said harshly, "Imagine a King who fights his own battles. Wouldn't that be a sight!"

As she turned and walked toward her opponent she heard Agamemnon say to Nestor under his breath, "Of all the warlords loved by the Gods, I hate her the most."

"We need her, my King," Nestor said in an attempt to keep things as smooth as possible between them.

But, unwilling to admit that he needed anyone, the King just murmured noncommittally, "For now."

Achilles picked up speed and slowly broke into a run. Boagrius paused for a moment, considering briefly the ethics on killing a woman. But he took one look into her cold and purposeful eyes and knew this was no ordinary woman. He lifted his spear and hurled it toward her knowing that, even if she blocked it, it would do some serious damage. Finishing her off would be easy enough. But without breaking stride she lifted her shield and thrust it out to meet the oncoming weapon. It slammed through the bronze surface and straight through the other side, stopping inches from her face but not making a scratch. She spun the shield and tossed it aside, still coming and quickly gathering speed. Seeing she was unhurt he tried again, throwing the spear harder this time. But she just dodged to the left and it missed her by at least a foot and a half. She was getting faster and when she had crossed over half the distance she drew her sword. Cold fire burned in her eyes and she waited for the perfect moment. Boagrius drew his sword in readiness, feeling the beginning twinges of alarm. Very few men had survived this far and most of them had given him these scars. But she had an air of knowing confidence about her. She had done this before; lots of times.

Yes, she had done this before. And she would do it again after today. Determination pushed her to go faster and in a startling burst of speed she lunged to the warriors left and jumped into the air over his shoulder and far above the dangerous edge of his sword. Drawing her own sword arm back she thrust down in a lightning fast move and stabbed her blade deep through the small soft space between his collarbone and shoulder, withdrawing the blade before landing softly on her feet and walking toward the front lines of the Thessalonians. Behind her Boagrius looked down in shock at the wound trickling blood before dropping to his knees then falling unnoticed onto his face. He didn't get up again.

She stood in front of the army expectantly. "Is there no one else!" she cried with a trace of anger. There was no response, not even any eye contact. "Is there no one else!" she yelled again. They couldn't really think that sorry excuse for an execution was enough to win a war, could they?

But apparently they did when Triopas stepped forward and asked, "Who are you, woman?" There was a touch of awed respect in his voice. By the look on his face it was obvious he had seen dozens of foolish men fall to the edge of Boagrius' sword. It seemed impossible to him that a mere female had been able to take down what entire armies hadn't been able to defeat.

Without looking at the king she answered, "Achilles, daughter of Peleus."

"Achilles," Triopas repeated, testing the new word on his tongue. "I'll remember the name." He holds up the golden sceptre, the symbol of his leadership. "The ruler of Thessaly carries this sceptre. Give it to your king." After seeing her display of power and confidence in battle he wasn't even willing to put up a fight. He had made a deal, his best fighter against Agamemnon's best, and had been thoroughly beaten. He would hold to his word and feel no shame in the loss.

The woman bristled with barely reined in anger and turned to walk away, throwing over her shoulder, "He's _not_ my king." She held her head high and turned her back on both armies, separating herself from this war completely. She had done her part and could now go home.

But first she had some business to finish in her tent.

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Want to read more? You've got to tell me so. If not I won't know, will I? ;)


	3. Propositions

Hi again! I'm still here! Hurrah! Nobody's told me I suck yet! Well, that's not actually that difficult because only three of you have told me anything. But that's ok. This cool new hit-counter thing means I at least know people are looking :) But drop me a line when you're done cos I really need the ego boost! Let me know if you like it or if you think there's anything I need to improve. But only constructive criticism please. I've had enough flames for my Lord of the Rings one-shot to know I don't like them.

Thanks for the feedback Gaby! You're review made me post this one earlier than I had intended. So the rest of you know what you need to do if you want me to update faster! review, review, review!Lol

Oh. Just realised I haven't done a disclaimer thing. So here it is: I own nothing except the idea for a female Achilles. Everything else is divided up among various writers, filmakers and actors etc. Consider this written for the entire story. Even the dialogue that deviates from the film is rarely mine. I downloaded the transcript from some website or other _months _ago. I can't even remember where. But I'm not taking credit for anything so don't sue me. I'm a student, anyway. So it's not like it'd be worth your while. Wouldn't even cover half the legal costs!Lol :)

Can you tell from my useless rambling at the beginning of each chapter so far that I don't get out enough? Make me happy and shut me up! Review, damnit!Lol

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Chapter 3

When she returned to her home in Larissa, Achilles wasted no time before picking up her life where she left off. She cared for her family and she trained her younger cousin. The townspeople came to her because they knew she made the best swords for miles. Although, in this area, there was little need for weapons such as these. So she crafted spearheads and arrows for hunting, as well as sharpening farm equipment. She worked alone and only had another in the workshop when she went to war.

Patroclus' pride was somewhat dented at being taught to fight by a woman. But this was forgotten when he remembered his cousin was Achilles. She was a greater warrior than any man could ever hope to be. He was truly proud to be her student and defended her against any who spoke ill of her. Strangely there were quite a number of these. Many of the women felt it wasn't right for a female to get involved in war. Let the men do the fighting. She should stay at home and raise a family like the rest of them.

But Patroclus knew why she did not. She hadthe warrior spirit of her father and it was impossible to deny it. To conform to tradition would destroy her. Achilles just didn't have it in her to stay in one place. It had been so long since she won her first war for Agamemnon that she didn't understand any other life. She would never admit it but it almost confused her. She didn't know what to do with herself. So she trained harder, both personally and with him. She pushed them both beyond their limits and kept them there until they dropped.

Obviously, she could stay there much longer than he could. And the physical strength she displayed when doing so was astounding. He sometimes stood there hypnotised when watching her.

But he had no time to stand and watch her today. Today was one of those harder days. Achilles hadn't been back long so it was taking her a little while to get used to being home. She was still very much in 'battle mode' and was taking it out on him.

The sea churned beneath them as they sparred atop the cliff they knew so well. The ruins shone white in the bright afternoon sun and in a brief lapse in concentration Achilles wondered about the people that had built this ancient structure. She wondered what their names were. Her cousin took advantage of her absentmindedness and managed to graze her upper arm with the blunt wooden practice sword. But she quickly recovered and resumed her position as the dominant fighter.

The way they fought was somewhat different and it was clear which of the twohad seen true battle. Patroclus was all about how it looked. His moves were impressive and showy, taking risks without thinking. He made wide sweeps with his sword in attempts to take off limbs or cleave deep gashes through either her torso or back; whichever was revealed to him for a long enough space of time. He wasn't really fussed which it was.

Achilles was altogether different. Her movements were small and calculated. She wasted no energy and waited for him to tire as she knew he would. Experience had told her how to keep going for longer. And experience had also told her that, if she waited long enough, victory would be hers at very little cost to herself. So it was obvious to others that the woman was having no trouble holding her own. In fact, she seemed almost patronising in her relaxed confidence. But Patroclus persisted, pressing forward with attack after attack, swinging and thrusting with his sword.

She just tilted her head to the side to avoid one thrust and sidestepped another, easily taking advantage of his thrown balance and tapping him on the stomach. "You're getting fat, cousin," she teased. He only grinned in reply and forced himself to keep on the attack. But his high arching swing to her head was gracefully ducked and he was tapped on the back. "Fancy swordplay. The girls must be impressed."

This touched a nerve and he focused on winning instead of showing off his skill. She knew how well he could fight if he put his mind to it. He didn't need to prove anything to her. The quality of the duel dramatically increased and he eventually managed to get the upper hand. With the tip of his wooden sword under her chin, he asked, "Nervous?"

She swiftly twisted them both round and reversed the position, replying sarcastically with her sword against his throat, "Petrified." Achilles raised her right hand and Patroclus lifted his sword to deflect the attack. But Achilles didn't have the sword in that hand anymore. She tapped the wooden sword across his chest with her left hand and he looked down at it with something resembling accusation.

"You told me never to switch sword hands," he said with a half smile as they ended the fight and walked to their things.

Achilles dropped the sparring sword and said, "Yes. But by the time you know how to use it, you won't be following my orders anymore." There was a touch of sadness in her voice. She knew the day would come when he would be fighting with steel weapons instead of wooden ones. He would be facing deadly foes instead of practice opponents. She was teaching him to be a warrior and knew that eventually he would go to war just like her. But when he did she would have no power over him anymore. Whether he lived or died would not be within her control. In a way she would prefer it like that. Knowing that, if and when he died, it was because of an order she had given him would be more than she could bear.

The sound of hoof-beats reaches her ears and without moving her gaze from the far off distance she flipped a spear from the ground at her feet and launched it through the air in the opposite direction to where she was looking. Within seconds the thick wooden spear was deeply imbedded in the trunk of a fir tree, inches from the newcomer's head.

Odysseus smiled and ducked under the weapon blocking his way. He looked over at her and said as he approached, "Your reputation for hospitality is fast becoming legend."

Achilles watched him with suspicion. "I don't like that smile, my friend. It's the smile you smile when you want me to fight in another war." But her upbringing prevented her from saying more without being as polite as she could ever stretch to being. "Patroclus, my cousin – Odysseus, King of Ithaca." Once the introduction had been gotten out of the way she prepared herself for having to turn down her dearest friend, although she secretly knew there would be no point. She promised herself that every war would be her last. But, as each of those wars proved, there would never be a last one.

But the sales pitch didn't come straight away. "Patroclus, son of Menoetius?" Odysseus asked. When the boy nodded he continued, "I knew your parents well. I miss them." There was a respectful pause before he spoke again, this time in a lighter tone. "Now you have this one watching over you, eh? Learning from Achilles herself – Kings would kill for such an honour." He then turned his attention to the woman by his side. "We need to talk."

She tried and failed to conceal her irritation. "Tell me you are not here at Agamemnon's bidding," she said, her tone betraying her as well as her frustrated blue gaze. Odysseus hesitated in answering and Achilles had all the information she needed to know. She sighed and shook her head. "How many times have I done the savage work for the King of Kings? And when has he shown me the respect I've earned?"

Odysseus had heard these words, or ones just like them, many times before; that never stopped her fighting before. But there was something different about her expression and tone this time. He felt he had to try and convince her this time. "I'm not asking you to fight for him. I'm asking you to fight for the Greeks."

Her retort was fast and deadly, just like her sword. "Why? Are the Greeks tired of fighting each other?"

But so was his, "For now."

She knew what this war was about. The whole of Greece knew of the Trojan Prince seducing Menelaus' wife and taking her to Troy. She for one found the whole story highly amusing. Hiding a smile this time she said, "The Trojans never did anything to me." She honestly didn't like fighting countries that she had no quarrel with.

"They insulted Greece," Odysseus replied, like that would change her mind, like it would somehow send her into a fit of rage which would result in her diving off the cliff, swimming the Aegean and attacking Troy singlehandedly in a killing frenzy which would leave no man, woman or child alive.

But Agamemnon would probably find a way to take credit for that one too. "They insulted one Greek, a man who couldn't hold onto his wife," she said to correct him. "What business is that of mine?"

"Your business is war, my friend." There was a calm certainty in that statement. He knew it was true and he knew this conversation was going to go his way. She had agreed from the moment she laid eyes on him.

This remark angered her somewhat. How dare he presume to tell her what her own life was for! "Is it? Am I a whore of the battlefield? Can my sword be bought and sold?" she said letting her voice show her displeasure. But when she continued she was calmer. "I don't want to be remembered as some tyrant's mercenary." If, after all she had fought for and sacrificed, she was only remembered as a mindless murderer then all the pain and loneliness would be in vain.

He realised this was not the way to get his female friend to cooperate. Agamemnon had turned his back on her too many times to make any favour for him seem positively repulsive. "Forget Agamemnon. Fight for me. My wife will feel much better knowing you're by my side. _I'll_ feel much better." He was getting to her, he could tell. She wasn't defiantly meeting his eyes anymore. She appeared almost thoughtful.

Breaking the awkward silence that had begun Patroclus addressed Odysseus. "Is Ajax going to fight in Troy?"

The King had to smile at the boy's interest. "Of course. You've heard of Ajax, eh?"

He smiled in return. "They say he can fell an oak tree with one swing of the axe."

"Trees don't swing back," Achilles commented with a half smile. She took nothing away from the mighty man but he put so much faith in brute force there was very little skill there at all. _She_ could fell _him_ with one swing of the axe if the desire so took her. But she respected him far to much to ever try. Unless he was leading the opposing army, of course.

Aware of the boy's enthusiasm, Odysseus continued, "We're sending the largest fleet that ever sailed – a thousand ships."

Patroclus' interest was increased tenfold. "A thousand ships!" His eyes widened with enthusiasm but then they rapidly narrowed. Something had occured to him that he wasn't entirely sure he was hapy about."Prince Hector, is he as good a warrior as they say?" Fear for his cousin was trying to rush to the surface but it was held firmly in place by the knowledge of Achilles' unbeatable skill. But the concern still nagged.

The king responded, "The best of all the Trojans." Then he added pointedly, "Some say he's better than all the Greeks, too." That comment got her to listen to him, the next would drive the knife home. "Even if your cousin doesn't come, Patroclus, I hope you'll join us. We could use a strong arm like yours." Even as the boy grinned Odysseus saw Achilles tense up and turn a fiery glare on him. But behind the heated stare her knowing eyes were smiling. He had won.

She wrapped a friendly arm round his shoulders and leaned closer to say meaningfully, "Play your tricks on me, if you'd like. But leave my cousin out of it." Although the mood was good natured there was no mistaking the warning woven into her tone and expression, not to mention the strong hand squeezing the back of his neck. She would protect her family with her last breath and would not allow this man to take away what was rightfully her responsibility.

Odysseus just smiled, not in the least bit intimidated by her veiled threat. "You have your sword, I have my tricks. We play with the toys the gods give us." Knowing he had gotten what he wanted he walked away and swung up onto his horse. He called back to her, "We sail for Troy in three days." Now for the finishing touch. "This war will never be forgotten." And finally, "Nor will the heroes who fight in it."

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Any good? You know what to do. just click on that little button in the corner and make a penniless writer very very happy! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? gets off chair and drops to knees I'm shamelessly begging here! Do me a favour?Lol :) 


	4. Anticipation

Heya guys! Hows it goin'? Hope you're all cool. Well, here are the next two installments. This chapter's only short so I'm putting the next one up aswell. It just felt like the right place to break it so you get two updates in one go. And easy way for me to make it seem like I've updated more than I have!Lol :)

Thanks to my reviewers! You're the best!

Moonrider: Great to hear from you. Let me know what you think of these, ok? Keep'em comin'!

Gaby: haha! I've had trouble thinking of a face too. I tried to look for a picture to show you but that didn't work out too well. Here's a tip. Never go into Google imagesand put in a search for "blonde women"! You get either porno or mail-order brides!Lol. The most annoying thing was one of the porno pictures actually looked pretty close to what I was aiming at. Bummer!

Anyway, read and review. If you're just reading and not reviewing, please please please drop me a line to let me know you're out there and you like it. I have, like, no self-esteem when it comes to writing so you'd be boosting my ego to unimaginable proportions!

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Chapter 4

Achilles knew why she was on her ship headed for Troy but she wasn't sure why she had allowed Patroclus to come. She wanted to fight so she could protect her friend and to have her name immortalised. She wouldn't pretend it was because of some noble turn on her part. It was just because she wanted to be remembered. Everyone would know her name once this war was through. But why had Patroclus come with her? It was no secret he wanted to join her Myrmidons. And she was perfectly willing to let him become one. But … why now? Why to Troy? This would be the greatest battle she would ever be in so why would she risk his life in this?

Maybe it was because she understood his eagerness to fight. She couldn't deny him this opportunity just because she was nervous. He could take care of himself and she knew he would be fine. But she was nervous nonetheless.

She looked over her shoulder at was once again amazed by the sheer number of ships behind her. When Odysseus had said they were sending a thousand ships she had accepted it with little more than a raised eyebrow. The number was so great it didn't really have any meaning to her until now. And it was shocking. How could her mother think they could fail in this?

'But she didn't say the army would fail. She only said I would.' She quickly abandoned that thought as ridiculous. No one could beat her and even if they did there was no chance she would let them kill her. She _would_ see her home again. She _would._

They stayed on the ships for weeks. It felt like they would never get there. But the coast of Troy came into view soon enough. After a month of training below deck with very little room to move she couldn't wait to feel solid ground beneath her feet and have open space on all sides. She wanted to run, she wanted to train outside; but more than anything she wanted to get this war started. Her fingers were nearly twitching with the desire to truly fight. It felt like it had been far too long since she had let go. She couldn't do so with any of her men for fear of hurting them, even though they always said it didn't matter. Her muscles ached with suppressed energy and she longed to release the tension.

But Achilles wouldn't have to wait much longer now. She could already see soldiers lining the shore waiting to welcome them.

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Hope you like the next one too. This is Paris' first chapter and you get to see that, during puberty, his balls did, in fact, drop. Well, they did in my version, anyway.Lol :)


	5. Out of Character

Chapter 5

The bell rang loud and clear through the city and Paris rushed to his balcony. His hands rose to cup Helen's shoulders as they looked at the fast approaching ships, a greater number than anyone had ever seen before or ever would again. It was terrifying to watch as he stood there and knew it was his fault and there was nothing he could do to prevent what was about to happen. They came because he had brought Helen here and many a Trojan would die today. It didn't matter how many Greeks fell. That would never make up for the loss of life to his people.

They would take the beach. He knew that for certain. And then they would take Apollo's temple and kill all the people it contained. All the priests and the acolytes would be murdered without a second thought. The acolytes. Briseis!

He sucked in a breath and said urgently to his lover, "Briseis is in the Temple. She'll be killed! I have to do something." Without waiting for an answer he pulled on a tunic and strode out the door. He headed straight for the armoury and knew Hector would be there. He would save her. He wrenched open the door and soldiers immediately took in his worried expression and cleared out of his way. He found his brother soon after.

"Paris, what are you doing here!" he asked angrily. Of all the people he hadn't wanted to see, Paris was highest on that list.

Abandoning his instant defensiveness at Hector's displeasure he said, "If the Greeks take the beach they will sack the temple and kill all those in it."

Hector responded sharply, "Since when do you give consideration to those of the Temple? Shouldn't you be back with your lover? She is, after all, the reason for all of this." His anxiousness at the coming battle lost him his control for a moment and he lashed out with words. Fear for his country and for his life brought resentment to the fore and it was all he could do not to rip his brother's face from his skull as he had threatened to do not that long ago.

Paris' initial reaction was to leap to Helen's defence but then he remembered his reason for coming here. "Brother, Briseis is in the Temple. She went there this morning. They will kill her, you have to do something." His voice took a desperate turn as he pleaded with Hector to save their cousin.

Hector sighed. "All I can do is try and secure the beach. As much as I want to ride to her rescue I cannot abandon the men. They need a leader and I am he. I will do what I can but…" He let it trail off. There was nothing more he could say.

There had to be more that could be done. Paris knew what he had to do. "Then _I_ will ride to her rescue," he stated simply before running from the armoury straight to the stables. Behind him he could hear his brother calling after him but he gave up when the younger prince refused to answer him. Paris took the reins of a bay stallion and swung up onto its back, galloping along the street and out through the now open gates. His gut flipped when he realised just what he was riding toward but he didn't care. All he knew was that he couldn't let his cousin die because of him. It was his fault the army was here and it was his fault they were going to attack the temple. He had to do whatever he could, even if it was a profoundly stupid course of action. He could never forgive himself if he sat back and did nothing.

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Well, there you have it. The youngest Prince of Troy makes his appearance. What do you think? Don't worry though. He still gets to be a coward, wimp and complete wussy-bag!Lol

If you review, I promise to update sooner! Good deal? I like to think so :)

Oh, and if anyone has any suggestions for a chapter title, I'd be pleased to hear it. I was wracking my brain so much it nearly shriveled to the size of a raisin and dropped outthrough my nose! And it _still_ couldn't think of one!Lol


	6. Taking the Beach

Hey everyone! I'm back. Sorry if I took a long time. I forgot when I'd last updated. Silly me! Anyway, still here and have another update for you.

Gaby: Thanks for letting me know you're still there! And yep. You guessed right. But I think you'll have to wait fot the next chapter before it actually happens. But that'll be up soon, I promise:)

mellesa: Thank you so much for reviewing! It means a lot to know people are enjoying this! Let me know what you think of this one, ok:)

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Chapter 6

She had to get there first. Achilles pushed her men to row harder and they streamed ahead of the rest of the armada, leaving them far behind. To be honest she didn't need to push her men. They were as eager as her to get this war started and earn their own places among the great warriors of history. It didn't matter to them that every stroke of the oars was most likely taking them to their deaths. All they could think about was the honour and glory that came from fighting in such a battle. The encouragement from their leader only fuelled their anticipation and increased their excitement. They could sense the tension coming off her and could only imagine what she was feeling. Every man on the ship knew Achilles had been waiting for this day since the visit from Odysseus.

And now they were here at last. A Myrmidon lieutenant approached Achilles and waited for her to acknowledge his presence. "Should we wait for the others?" Eudorus asked when she looked at him.

The warrior looked over her shoulder to check the progress of the other ships. The nearest was at least a half a mile back. They would arrive long after the Myrmidons. She felt a stab of satisfaction at the thought that for a while the whole beach would be hers for the taking. And she couldn't wait any longer to relieve the physical ache in her limbs. In answer to Eudorus she said, "They brought us here for war, didn't they?"

"Yes, my lady. But Agamemnon said …"

"Do you fight for me, Eudorus? Or for Agamemnon?" There was a slight challenge in her tone but she knew he meant no harm. She just liked keeping him on his toes. He was a trusted friend but she needed to be sure he would follow orders when they were given.

The man seemed almost knocked by the question. It had its desired effect. "For you, my lady." He had been under her command for years and trusted her judgement more surely than any other warlord. Given the choice between her and the captain of any Greek army he would always come back to her. He owed her his life many times over, just as she owed him.

She raised her eyebrow and let the corners of her mouth turn upward slightly. Only one who had known her her whole life would see the smile. "Then fight for me. And let the servants of Agamemnon fight for him." When he nodded and retreated she turned her eager face back to the beach. It wouldn't be long now. She could already make out the soldiers trying to set up the defences along the coastline. Just a few more minutes longer.

She tightened her fist round the hilt of her sword and took a steadying breath to slow her racing heart.

When all the men were prepared she surveyed her troops. They really were magnificent. Each one trained to kill and willing to do so. Their strong muscles flexed as they loosened up, ready for battle. The men all sported scars of varying sizes, shapes and positions. She herself had stitched many of those wounds and remembered how they were received. But one soldier had no scars at all and his muscles were no bigger than her own. Patroclus.

"Where are you going?" she asked like she honestly didn't know.

He walked over and replied, "To fight the Trojans," as if it was obvious. He hadn't expected her to question him on this. This was, after all, the reason he had come here.

Achilles just shook her head 'no' and took his spear from his hand. "You're not ready," she said gently, knowing it would hurt him to be left behind.

Patroclus couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I _am_ ready," he insisted. "You taught me how to fight." There was no way he was being left behind now. He'd had to sit out too many wars and couldn't just watch this one from so close.

She rested her hand on his shoulder and gripped the back of his neck. "And you're a good student. But you're not a Myrmidon yet." She looked meaningfully over the boy's shoulder at the soldiers behind him. "These are the fiercest soldiers in Greece. Each of them has bled for me before." But Patroclus still looked like he was going to object so she interrupted him. "I can't fight the Trojans if I'm worrying about you, cousin. Guard the ship." She ignores his temper as he throws his breastplate angrily to the deck and continues to prepare her mind for the fight to come.

She sees more Trojan men on the beach then turns back to her men, anxiously waiting for their time to come. "Myrmidons," she began, smiling. "We are brothers of the sword. I'd rather fight alongside you than any army of thousands." Her smile widened to a grin as the warriors cheered. She pointed her arm toward the sand. "Do you know what's beyond that beach?" She looked into the eyes of every man. "Immortality. Take it, it's yours!"

The Myrmidons shouted as one and the oarsmen gave one last almighty pull. The ship ran aground and Achilles pushed her helmet onto her golden head. Her time had arrived.

She leaped gracefully over the side and landed softly, holding her shield protectively in front of her. A rain of arrows began falling moments later and soon an arrow struck it but she spun the bronze and carried on. So focused on her goal was she that she only barely felt the pang of grief as four of her men fell beside her. Three screamed and clutched a wounded arm, leg or stomach. One just … fell and didn't get up. But she didn't pause and wasn't distracted in the slightest. She would grieve when she lit their pyres. Now was time for war.

Achilles and her Myrmidons grouped together and held their shields protectively over their heads and bodies, creating an impenetrable shell against the Trojan arrows. Leaving a small space by her face, Achilles looked out as they slowly approached the army. When they reached the desired distance she made a small signal with her hand and they dispersed, half running up the beach while the other charged forward with their leader, diving into the fight with howls and roars.

She ran at the archers with her sword drawn and gleaming in the bright sun. More of her men fell as they released more arrows in an attempt to defend their country. There were three now protruding from her shield but she didn't slow her progress. Within moments she was upon the archers and they were crumpling to the ground as she tore through them. Her warriors swiftly followed as she carved a path through the Trojans. It took them minutes to destroy them all and they stood watching Achilles, waiting to be told their next move. She just turned and nodded at the temple. Their next target had been chosen.

Eudorus was out of breath. He gasped for air and Achilles looked at him with amusement sparkling in her eyes. "Breath, my friend." She smiled with grim satisfaction at the scene they had left behind them and ran toward the temple. The Myrmidons followed her, eager anticipation quickening their step.

Yet more arrows rained down on them but they kept coming. Achilles picked up her spear and threw it at the nearest archer, slamming it into his chest before he could draw the string back on his bow. The archers then gave up on the arrows and took up their swords but it was too late. Achilles was already there and was taking them out with frightening speed. It seemed like every time she moved another man fell. Her sword was coated in bright red blood and each swing of the shining bronze flecked her with spots of the warm fluid. It ran down her face and arms in tiny streams and mingled with the sweat trickling from her skin.

In the back of her mind she was aware of the Myrmidons having caught up with her and fighting alongside her. Again it took them less than a minute to clear the area and before long the archers were all dead and the warriors had control of the temple area. While the rest of the Myrmidons searched the grounds for any surviving soldiers Achilles took off her helmet and put it down. She was still breathing calmly and if it wasn't for the blood and sweat now drying on her hot skin you wouldn't think she had exerted herself at all.

Eudorus approached her and announced, "The Temple is secure."

She turned and surveyed the surviving Myrmidons with pride. Bodies of men she had known lay scattered across the sand but she made herself ignore their lifeless faces. "The sun god is a patron of Troy, our enemy. Take whatever treasure you can find." The men cheered and run past her into the shadowy temple.

But Eudorus stayed outside, hesitant to follow his leader's orders. "With your permission, my lady—," he began. When told to speak he continued, "Apollo sees everything. Perhaps it is not wise to offend him."

Achilles appeared thoughtful for a moment and nodded slowly. She then made to walk into the temple but paused before spinning round with her sword arm and slicing clean through the neck of Apollo's statue, its head falling from its shoulders and bouncing down the stairs. Eudorus stood wide eyed with horror and fear as he watched but Achilles didn't pay him any attention. She was too busy looking up at the sky waiting to be struck down. When nothing happened she turned an expectant face to Eudorus and raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Well? Where is your god now?"

But the sound of hoof-beats drew her attention and she looks over the dunes, locking her eyes on the approaching Trojan soldiers. Their golden armour glinted in the sun, true warriors of Apollo. Her mind snapped back into battle mode as she readied herself for more fighting. "Get inside the temple, warn the men," she ordered. But as he moved to follow her instruction she said, "Eudorus, wait a moment." She holds her arm out behind her and the man hands her a spear. Before he could blink it was soaring through the air and imbedded itself deep in one of the men's chests. He fell from his horse and landed hard on his back. Without looking back at him Achilles said calmly, "Now you can go."

Eudorus disappeared inside the Temple to warn the others but Achilles waited, watching the riders get closer and closer. She saw the closest man raise his spear and when he was fifty feet away he threw it with all his strength. But at the last moment she almost lazily tipped her head to the side, the spear flying through the air and missing her ear by inches. When sure the man could see her she gave a self-satisfied smile before turning her back on him and walked insultingly slowly into the Temple.

She entered the gloomy interior just in time to see her men disappear behind pillars of stone that line the entryway. She smirked and them and whispered, "Be ready. They are here." She then slowly walked up the steps to the altar room of the temple. She saw bodies of dead priests lying open-eyed on the bloodied floor. A small frown creased her brow but she ignored the twist in her gut at the sighed. She heard approaching footsteps and turned to look over her shoulder just in time to see the Trojan warriors reach the doorway. She locked eyes with the leader and the personal anger she saw in his eyes made something twig in her mind. 'Hector,' she thought briefly before waiting for them all to approach.

She wasn't disappointed. The man she now realised was the crowned prince of Troy lead his men into the temple, his eyes fixed on her bloodstained face. When there were an acceptable number of them through the door she disappeared from sight and again waited for the inevitable pursuit. She had just enough time to settle herself on the altar to wait before she heard deafening war cries and the sounds of a large fight crammed into too small a space. But a man came up the steps after her. It was him, Hector.

He was a better warrior than she gave him credit for. Judging by the fresh blood dripping from the edge of his gleaming sword he had taken out a number of her men before following her. Again came the stab of grief but she squashed it. She would avenge them soon.

He stopped and stared at her, waiting for her to make a move. She could see he was having the same internal argument as every other man she had fought. Should they fight a woman? But they all came to the same conclusion: If a woman's kicking your arse you don't have to be a gentleman. And Hector had come to the same conclusion. Time to test the theory.

"You must be very brave or very stupid to come after me alone," she said. The sounds of the fight could still be heard. The Trojans and Myrmidons still hadn't quite killed each other yet. "You must be Hector." He didn't respond, just knelt by the dead priests in silence. So she would have to antagonise him a little more. "A private audience with the prince of Troy. I'm flattered. Do you know who I am?"

As he bowed his head to close the men's eyes all he could think about was Paris. His brother had been constantly on his mind ever since he left the armoury that morning. He had been coming here for Briseis. What had become of them? Neither of them could be seen on the ground and for that he was thankful, but where were they now? He didn't answer Achilles' question but he did break his silence. "These priests weren't armed." He had to speak to stop the panicked raving inside his head. If he didn't he was sure he would attack her and, no matter what her skill, he would never be rid of the guilt for killing this woman. He looked up at her as she jumped down from her seat on the altar.

She returned Hector's accusing gaze with one as close to innocence as she could manage. "I didn't kill them," she said. "Cutting old men's throats? There is no honour in that." She honestly didn't care that these men were dead. It made no difference to her. They were old anyway, her men were just bringing about the inevitable slightly sooner than nature had intended. Inwardly she shrugged but her indifference showed clearly on her face.

Hector saw it and forgot all reluctance. She was nothing but a mindless killer and deserved to die, woman or no. "Honour?" He spat in disgust. "Children and fools fight for honour. I fight for my country." 'And my family,' he finished silently, thinking of his brother and cousin and what he would gladly do to this warrior if they had been harmed in any way. The thought of the ones he loved being hurt by these people made him see red. He charged at her but she stepped easily out of the way, keeping the altar between them. "Fight me," he demanded angrily but she just sighed and looked at him.

"Why kill you, prince of Troy," she said calmly, "when there's no one here to see you fall?" What would she gain from just killing him? With only her men's say so that it had been her sword that killed him she would gain no honour or glory. Just another layer of dry blood on her already bloody sword. He would be just another corpse, like the nameless archers that littered that beach below them.

She again turned her back on him and walked out of the archway into the bright sunlight. It was a beautiful day. Behind her she heard Hector's heavy footsteps telling her she was being followed. "Why did you come here?" he asked her turned back.

This was an easy question to answer. She had been thinking about it ever since she first spoke to Odysseus all those weeks ago. It was never far from her mind. "They will be talking about this war for a thousand years." Just the idea of it made her gut leap with anticipation.

Hector didn't understand. "In a thousand years even the dust from our bones will be gone," he said to her in place of asking for an explanation.

She turned her burning blue eyes on him and said with certainty and eagerness, "Yes, prince. But our names will remain."

From various doorways and stone staircases her Myrmidons approached. They were spattered with blood, dirt and sweat and a few were still breathing hard. Eudorus was leading them. "The Trojans are dead," he said to Achilles then fixed his eyes on Hector, waiting for the inevitable fight to begin between the two warriors. It was a confrontation he wouldn't miss for the world.

Achilles appeared thoughtful for a moment then said, "Go home, prince." She felt all eyes turn to her in surprise. She wasn't going to kill him? But it would be so easy! And then the war would be pretty much over, one way or the other. But the look in her own eye dissuaded anyone from speaking out just yet. "Drink some wine. Make love to your wife. Tomorrow we will have our war."

Hector looked at Achilles with contempt. "You speak of war like it's a game. But how many wives wait at Troy's gate for husbands they will never see again?" How could this woman, who appeared to him no more than a child, have such a casual and relaxed approach to war and death? Taking life was such a tragic course of action that was only done in his country when necessary. But this one seemed so flippant toward it. Didn't she see how precious life was?

Without missing a beat Achilles came back with, "Perhaps your brother can comfort them. I hear he's quite good at charming other men's wives." Her arms were folded over her chest and she stood with her weight resting on her left leg, the other stretched out to the side, tilting her hips in an obviously female stance. Her expression was one of wide eyed mocking.

She had hit a nerve and could see it clearly. Her words had reminded him yet again that his brother may not be at home when he returned. Hector knew he would get him back but until then what would happen? His father would never forgive him for this if anything happened to him for Priam doted on Paris. He had done ever since Hecuba died when Paris was young.

The prince made no move to reply and just walked away. He could have made a suicidal attempt to find out what had happened to Paris but he had learnt over the years that it was sometimes best to wait. Gather your strength and prepare a strategy. If Paris was not in Troy when he returned he would stop at nothing to get him back. But until then he had to stay alive. He could do nothing if they sent his dead body back to his father wrapped in a shroud. So he swung back up onto his horse and galloped back to his city followed by many other Trojan soldiers.

Eudorus stared at Achilles in disbelief. "Why did you let him go?" he asked once Hector was gone. Fighting Hector was after all one of the reasons she had come here, that had gone without saying when they were told they were to go to Troy.

But Achilles just looked down at her sword in her hand and murmured almost to herself, "It's too early in the day for killing princes." There was something about this man that struck her as incredibly important. She knew they would meet again and that meeting would alter the courses of both their lives, for good or for evil. And that thought wasn't a pleasant one.

She walked over to the wall that looked out over the Trojan beach and watched as thousands of Greek men went about their business, doing their appointed jobs to ensure they had complete control of the stretch of land. But when they saw the woman standing over them they all ceased work to cry her name over and over. They cheered and shouted as she looked down and felt her chest tighten with something akin to excitement.

Things would only be escalating from here.

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As always, R&R! Without it I loseessential motivation! Let me know what you think and where I can improve. Spelling, grammar, general crapness... whatever.

Have a good one:)


	7. First Impressions

Chapter 7

She walked along the beach toward where her Myrmidons had set up their camp. Greeks on all sides were working hard but they all stopped to pay her some form of respect, be it a shout or a smile or even coming over to grip her arm and tell her what they thought of her taking the beach alone. But as she walked she heard her name called by a familiar voice and saw Ajax stride over. It seemed like everyone stopped to watch this meeting of two great warriors. She felt a ripple of shock go through her as she was caught up in a rib-crushing bear hug. This was not the reception she had expected.

"You're as fearless as a god," he exclaimed as he lowered her back to the ground. In all his years fighting he had never seen such a small group of warriors take out such a number of soldiers and do it without hesitation. Just from the orders of this one woman who seemed to them all barely more than a child.

"The gods are immortal. What do they have to fear?" she replied when she regained the use of her lungs.

Ajax laughed and let her go. "I'm honoured to go to war with you," he said reverently. He had never gone into battle with a more worthy comrade.

She nodded and smiled, gripping hold of his arm. "I don't have to worry about my back with you behind me," she replied sincerely before continuing along the beach. Not twenty feet on she saw Odysseus getting off his ship. She smiled and called out, "If you were any slower, the war would be over."

He grinned back and called out, "I don't mind missing the start of the war as long as I'm here at the end." They both laughed and carried on their ways.

Achilles was tired whether she admitted it or not and just wanted to rest a while. As she arrived at the Myrmidon's base she was greeted by the surviving men and Patroclus was stood with them, looking none the worse for wear for sitting this one out.

Eudorus approached her and said, "We have something to show you," before leading her to what was to be her tent. She looked around her and noticed the rest of the Myrmidons were grinning at her in a fashion not unlike when she returned from killing Boagrius and had gone back to the men she had still lying in her bed. But … surely not. Where would they find…?

But as she dipped her head and entered the tent she forgot all questions and honestly couldn't care less that the men were probably teasing her already. Because tied to the centre pole of the tent was the most beautiful creature she had ever set eyes on.

In the back of her mind she heard Eudorus say, "The men saw him trying to escape the temple with an acolyte on one of their Trojan horses. They shot at them but she got away on the boy's horse. They thought he'd … amuse you." There was a smile in his voice but Achilles didn't hear him.

All she knew was the man in front of her who was returning her stare with one of barely contained terror. His dark eyes were wide and his face was pale. He was bleeding from his lip and his clothes were torn. His hair fell in untidy curls around his face and neck and as she followed his arms to his bound wrists blood soaked the fraying rope that held him. Without looking at Eudorus she said, "Leave us." When he was gone she pulled a knife from her belt and walked toward the man. She heard him suck in a breath and his eyes remained fixed on the blade, clearly showing his fear of pain and death. But when she knelt beside him she realised just what Eudorus had said.

'They shot at them.'

An arrow protruded at an awkward angle from the back of the man's right shoulder. Blood glistened on his blue tunic and turned the fine fabric brown. It hadn't gone very deep, it seemed to have only gone a little way past the head, but was still oozing steadily. Achilles paused for a moment before cutting the rope and freeing his arms. He instantly pulled them round but cried out in pain as his shoulder was torn into a little bit more. He arched forward and she grabbed hold of his shoulders to stop him doing any more damage.

When he stopped moving she released him and stood. She silently moved to the tent flap and called, "Patroclus, bring me a needle, thread, cloth and some water." When she saw him get up to take care of her demand she went back to the young man. She felt like she should say something but she didn't know what. After a moment of awkward silence where they both stared at one another she asked abruptly, "What's your name?" He visibly flinched at the harshness of her voice and said nothing dropping his eyes. Even injured he was examining his surroundings, obviously looking for an escape route. She smirked and said with an ironic half-smile, "You're safer in this tent than out there, believe me!" Achilles wouldn't go into details about what would happen to him if he was caught. Actually, it wasn't even a case of 'if'. If he left the tent he wouldn't last two minutes before he was captured by a group of less … _compassionate_ Greeks.

He looked like he was about to say something when the flap was pushed aside and Patroclus stuck his head in. Achilles got up and took from him the things she had asked for, putting herself between him and the man kneeling on the ground. She gave her cousin a sly smile and he grinned in reply. He knew her intentions and couldn't help smiling. Over the past few weeks she had gradually gotten more and more tense. She needed to relax some and this man might be the key to her … relaxation. He would never tell her but it had been his idea to give him to her as a gift. She would only tell him off him for meddling.

Achilles didn't need to say anything to tell him to, "Get the Hell out of here!" She just went back to kneeling by the boy and said to him, "It looks like you are going to be spending an awfully long time in this tent so you might as well say something. Unless you want to spend an indefinite length of time in awkward silence." When he didn't respond she urged in a patronising tone, "You can say what you wish, anything that comes into your mind." She knelt there watching him for a moment before she saw him take a breath and speak.

"You killed Apollo's priests." His voice was accusing but quivering slightly and his eyes went slightly glazed at what was probably a horrific memory. For a moment she wondered what exactly he had seen.

She replied as she took hold of the arrow, "I've killed men in five countries." She pulled it out and he grunted in pain. "But never a priest." She was slightly offended by this and this fact amused her a little.

"Then your men did." His teeth were gritted in pain but he still managed to say this with no less accusation lacing his tone, like he expected her to have controlled them completely from wherever she had been at that time. Actually, she had more than likely been skewering a Trojan soldier at the time—probably not much better—but that wasn't the issue here. Then he said to her, "The Sun God will have his vengeance." But his voice held little confidence, possibly because he was still reeling from the pain of having the arrow non too gently yanked from his flesh.

Achilles loved conversations like this. She always won them. "What's he waiting for?" she asked with much more confidence than he had used.

Although the boy seemed more than a little shocked at such a tone being used toward the gods he came back with venom, "The right time to strike." But his eyes didn't meet hers. He had been taught what to believe. He didn't find out for himself, on his own terms or through his own experiences. This boy was just repeating what had been told to him his entire life.

She smirked as she raised the wet cloth to his wounded shoulder and started cleaning it. "His priests are dead and one of his people is being held captive in the camp of the enemy." She paused and shifted to look into the man's eyes, raising an eyebrow cockily. "I think your god is afraid of _me_." Achilles watched for a second to see the immediate response before going back to her task.

He had given a breath of bitter laughter before saying, "Afraid? Apollo is master of the sun. He fears nothing, especially not an arrogant little girl running around Greece wearing her father's armour pretending to be a warlord."

"Then where is he?" That last comment had struck a nerve, especially the 'little girl' part. And he wasn't to know the armour actually _was_ her fathers. So she bit back with spite. It was all she could do to keep from striking him. Instead she jerked the needle and thread she was using to stitch the hole in his back. He winced but made no move to reply. 'Yay, I win!' she thought with a mock triumphant half-smile as she finished off the stitching and sat back.

It was then she realised she was still covered in blood and sweat and was starting to smell like a corpse. Not a good fragrance for a girl. So once she had tightly bound the still slightly bloody wound she got up and went to the bowl of warm water on the table and stripped off her filthy clothes, having no shame in her nakedness, and began scrubbing the dirt from her skin, noticing how the young man had to drag his eyes from staring at her body to fix them on the ground.

Paris had been shut up. There was no other less defeated phrase for it. He had no reply to that. And the sight of her glorious body glistening with water and sweat was making concentrating difficult. So he forced himself to lower his almost captivated gaze and snap, "You're nothing but a killer. You wouldn't know anything about the gods." She looked at most the same age as him. Likelihood was she hadn't been educated very well if this was how she chose to spend her life. She probably _didn't_ know anything about them.

But he was wrong. She knew. She had seen things that no god could possibly allow. If they did then they certainly didn't deserve her respect. So she said calmly, "You have seen nothing but peaceful times and beautiful cities and you think you know my heart? I know more about the gods than your priests. I've _seen_ them." When he looked back up at her she briefly let him see the torment she kept well hidden. She didn't know why but she wanted this innocent boy to understand something of the world he had been born into but never allowed to truly see for what it was. But as she met his eyes she saw something deep inside them that drew her. There was something within him she had never seen in a man before; and because of this she didn't know how to name it. But she saw it and … she liked it.

Then something else painfully obvious jumped out at her and she jerked back from the disarming thought she had been sucked into. "You're royalty, aren't you?" she asked suddenly, grabbing a replacement leather skirt and shirt and slinging them on casually. When he said nothing and just broke her stare she smiled. "I can tell you've spent years talking down to people, you must be royalty. What's your name?" Again he said nothing. "Even the lowliest of peasants are given names and you are not one of those I am sure."

He sighed. "Paris." If she knew anything at all she would know him from this. He wondered what reaction he would receive.

Her brows shot up and her mouth fell open before she snorted in laughter. "Good _god_, my men know how to pick them. Here I thought I would be playing hostess to a commoner or maybe young priest and I find myself in the company of Price Paris of Troy, no less! Well, _your highness_," she gave a mocking bow, "you certainly are one for causing trouble. I wonder what your brother will say when I tell him the company you've been keeping." He shot her a look that spoke volumes of his fear for his brother. "Relax." She tried not to laugh at his expression. "I spoke to him this morning and sent him on his way like a whipped dog. The only wounds he will be nursing tonight are those I gave his pride when I refused to fight him."

Paris felt himself sigh in relief but not quite knowing why he was trusting her word. For all he knew his father was burning Hector on a pyre as they spoke. And it would be all his fault. But he was pulled from his thoughts by the woman asking him a question.

"So, _Prince _Paris, are you afraid of me?"

Her eyes were wide and honest, the blue of the crystal orbs both warm and icy at once and he found himself fighting the shiver down his back. He shouldn't be reacting to her with anything but disgust. Why the attraction? 'The danger,' the voice in his head whispered seductively to him. 'You're loving the thrill of knowing this woman has killed countless men and you want to know the feeling of being so close to death.' But in a moment the ease of her presence was gone and replaced by reality. There was no room for attraction here. Here it was all about survival and getting back to his home. He was overtaken by fear that he might very well be killed before he ever got to see the gates of Troy again. "Should I be?" he asked, his voice betraying his fear of death once again.

Before Achilles could say another word she heard Eudorus calling from outside the tent. When she replied he stuck his head round the tent flap. "My lady, King Agamemnon requests your presence."

Frustrated at being disturbed when she had only wanted to eat and rest before tomorrow she asked pointedly, "Why would I want to look at that ugly son of a whore when I could look at him?" She gestured to Pairs who was sitting in uncomfortable silence staring at the sandy ground.

The captain said by way of an explanation, "All the kings are there, celebrating the victory." He knew this wouldn't put her in the best of moods and for a moment pitied the young man that may well bare the brunt of her frustration and anger when she returned.

She looked over her shoulder and him and said, "Give us a moment." When he retreated Achilles stood and stared long and hard at Paris. Then she draped her cloak round her shoulders and headed for the entrance. "You don't need to fear me, boy." Her voice took on a dangerous tone when she continued, "You're the only Trojan who can say that."

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Well, I'm back again. I hope you guys like this chapter because it's kind of key, the first meeting between the two and all. Let me know if you think there are certain details I can improve on and I'll do my best to go over it. But if your just going to say, "it sucks. change everything!" then don't bother. To be honest, I can't be bothered to rewrite the whole things yet so it's have to wait until I've finished the whole story.

Thanks to all you who reviewed. There is no better updating incentive!

Anyway, enough of my yammering. I'll let you lovely people get back to whatever it is you do with your free time :)

Have a good one!


	8. Guilt Trip

Hey, everyone. It seems like _ages_ since I last posted anything. Well, I've kinda had a bit of a crisis on the love-life front so I wasn't really feeling like sharing for a while. But I'm back now and I have a couple of new chapters for you. I hope you like them.

Thanks for all the reviews. The great ones, and the not so great ones. The lastest review someone wrote after just reading the first chapter was kind of amusing. "You do realise that Achilles was actually a real person don't you?" Yes, believe it or not I haven't been in a coma since I was five. And, "Just because you've watched the movie Troy doesn't make you an expert on the Trojan war." No shit! I never said I was. Some people are so funny. But this person did make a comment that I could respect though. They didn't think it was right to make up fanfics about real people. Fair enough. But... if they felt like that what the _hell_ was this person doing in the 'Troy' fanfiction? The whole thing is about real people!Lol.

Anyway, I'm going to shut up with the rambling and get with the posting. Just felt the need to rant a little. Sorry about that!Lol.

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Chapter 8

As he watched her leave Paris let out a sigh of relief. Although he hid it surprisingly well he was scared out of his mind. Not for the first time he commended himself on getting into yet more trouble. And this time his brother wasn't here to defend him.

When he had reached the temple after setting out alone from Troy he had rushed inside to find Briseis. It hadn't taken long but the Greeks had been so close. As he had rode up he could see them rapidly dispatching the soldiers on the beach—He now recognised the leader of those murderers as his female captor—and knew it wouldn't be long before they reached the temple. It hadn't been. He had just enough time to drag Briseis from the temple before the Greeks crashed in through the doors and began the massacre. But their nerves upset the horse and it took them a while to mount up and get going. By then they had been spotted by one of the men and the next thing he knew his back exploded in pain and he fell from the horse. Briseis pulled up and made to come back for him but by the time they had gotten him up onto the horse they both would have been captured. So he balled up what courage he could manage and yelled at her to keep going. Fear of capture spurred her on and she galloped back toward the city.

He had then been dragged to his feet by rough hands, tied at the wrists and, after a few words between the men—one of which said something about his appearance that made his skin crawl—he was taken back to their camp. Then, after a little more talking, he was taken into Achilles' tent where he was tied in a painful position and left there. He should have been listening to them when they spoke around him but the agony was making it difficult to concentrate on anything other than staying conscious. As he had never fought or even trained in combat he had never been injured. So the pain was new to him, he hadn't learnt to deal with it and because of this it was all he could think about besides the fact that he was in an awful lot of trouble.

But now the arrow had been removed and he found the burning pain had dulled to a steady ache and he could think through it without too much difficulty. The conversation with Achilles had been a struggle but now she was gone he was beginning to find it easier to form coherent sentences. And right now all those sentences were about Helen.

He missed her. He wished he could be back with her, he wished he could go back in time to the night after they had arrived at Troy. They had been happy together then. Of course there had always been the underlying threat of the Greeks coming but it had seemed like it was never going to happen. He hadn't listened to her when she warned him the night before they left Sparta. She had said Menelaus would kill them both. And now it seemed she was right.

Menelaus would make a deal with Priam, surrender Troy and we will give you your son back, and his father would comply because he could never allow Paris to die. But Menelaus would kill him before sending him back then Agamemnon would burn the city to the ground. If they found Helen she would be given back to Menelaus who would then kill her as well.

All in all, he had not only brought war to Troy, he had guarantied its downfall and the death of everyone he cared about. And all for the love of one woman. Now he looked back on it, wouldn't it have been better to leave her where she was? Was it really worth all the people that were going to die? All those lives, including his family's, were going to be snuffed out because he couldn't keep his hands off another man's wife. A few weeks of happiness wasn't worth an entire city of people. _His_ people, people he had sworn to protect.

And in that moment he felt such utter self-loathing that he thought he would go mad. But he was saved from insanity when about four large Greek soldiers burst into the tent. Two started gathering up the gold, silver and other treasures stolen from the temple while the other two grabbed Paris by the arms and hauled him up and out of the tent. He didn't have the strength or the courage to fight back so he just allowed himself to be dragged along the beach toward the largest tent of all. As they approached he felt a strong sense of foreboding. Whatever was going to become of him, felt it would happen in there. _Now_ he started to struggle.


	9. Arguements and Influences

Chapter 9

Achilles ignored the guards outside Agamemnon's tent and pushed past them, sweeping aside the tent flap and entering. As she entered she noticed the Greek Kings were there. About them the tent was decorated with tapestries and golden statues, the spoils of countless wars many of which had been fought before Achilles was even born.

Before them all, Agamemnon was seated on a huge throne that reflected just what the man thought of himself. It was lavishly decorated with gold and precious stones that glittered in the torchlight. At the King's feet knelt Triopas, Achilles recognised him from the war in Thessaly weeks before. He handed Agamemnon a beautiful dagger with a gold hilt in honour of his victory and Achilles has to force herself to remain still. Rage made her hands shake and her jaw clenched impossibly tight. She could feel muscles in her neck twitching with the effort it took not to stride over there and use that dagger to slay all who failed to recognise just who took the beach of Troy.

Odysseus caught Achilles' eye and shrugged as if to say, "Ignore them. What did you expect?" And he was right. She had come here for the glory, yes, but she knew recognition would not come from Agamemnon. If anything she would gain _him_ more honour just by being here. And there was something very wrong with that set-up.

Next came King Nestor. He gave Agamemnon an urn decorated with painted warriors. Achilles smirked at the idea of associating this pompous old windbag with any warrior. The idea would have been laughable had she not been so angry. But her moment would come and she would win no arguments by losing her temper and screaming the place down. So she used this time to calm herself and collect her thoughts.

It appeared that Nestor had been the last King to pay his respects as the men in the room got to their feet and began to leave the tent. Odysseus came over to her and clasped her upper arm, muttering to her so no others could hear, "War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this. Ignore the politics." He then pressed a brotherly kiss to her temple before following the other Kings outside.

It was then that Agamemnon chose to acknowledge her presence. Keeping his eyes fixed on her he said to his aides, "Leave us." They didn't hesitate in exiting the lavish tent and soon Achilles was alone with the King.

She sighed and made a show of looking around the tent. She couldn't get over all the finery that decorated the space. If he was correct they would only be staying here a few days then either heading into Troy or back home. So there was really no need for all this. To her it seemed extravagant and excessive. And the gifts he had been given. Most of the time she spent surveying her surroundings had been taken up by just staring at them. Useless. That was the only word she could think of to describe them. When she let her gaze wander back to Agamemnon she said, "Apparently, you've won some great victory."

Agamemnon really shouldn't have been surprised that her first remark was sarcastic, designed to push his temper. So he would anger her as well by saying, "Ah, perhaps you didn't notice. The Trojan beach belonged to Priam in the morning. It belongs to Agamemnon in the afternoon." He used the tried and tested tone he always used when trying to antagonise Achilles. It was cocky, arrogant, overconfident.

But this time the woman refused to be baited. "You can have the beach. I didn't come here for sand." Her voice was relatively calm and even which surprised the king.

Without missing a beat Agamemnon confirmed, "No, you came because you want your name to last through the ages." When he saw a slight flicker in her eyes he continued. "A great victory was won today—but that victory was not yours." Examining her as he was he just managed to catch the barely concealed spark of anger behind her intense blue eyes. Hate her as he did he had to admit she was beautiful when angered. So he angered her some more. "Kings did not kneel to Achilles. Kings did not pay homage to Achilles." This time he was rewarded by a frown creasing her brow as she shifted her weight from one booted foot to another.

Achilles was holding herself together rather well considering she wanted to go over there and punch the arrogant king so hard the bone in his nose shot up into his brain. Instead of this she decided to infuriate him as much as she could. That was the only thing she could do without killing him so she did it as much as she could. "Perhaps the Kings were too far behind to see. The soldiers won the battle. The soldiers know who fought." Refusing to express her anger was one way of frustrating Agamemnon. It was denying him the only thing he spoke to her for.

She felt a stab of satisfaction as she saw the king lose his temper even as he struggled to not give her that. He stood up from his throne with furious indignation and nearly shouted, "History remembers kings, not soldiers." But her satisfied smile made it clear this didn't affect her nearly as much as he had hoped. Although there was a slight flicker in her eyes she remained composed. She thought that comment had only seemed petty and spiteful, it had no basis in reality. So he carried on, determined to make her see how insignificant she really was to this war. She would learn her place if it was the last thing he did. "Tomorrow we'll batter down the gates of Troy. I'll build monuments to victory on every island of Greece, and carve 'Agamemnon' in the stone. My name will last forever. Your name is written in the sand, for the waves to wash away."

But Achilles just stood there staring at him and raised one of her golden eyebrows. "Be careful, king of kings. First you need the victory." With that simple statement she said all she needed to say. She had slapped him down and told him she was not going to be intimidated by one man who could barely get out of his chair without his aides to heave him up by the arms.

She turned to leave but was stopped but Agamemnon's voice. "One more thing, daughter of Peleus."

She glared back over her shoulder at him and said warningly, "I don't want to hear my father's name from your mouth ever again."

Ignoring her he said, "The first pick of the battle's spoils always goes to the commander. Your men sacked the temple of Apollo, yes?" He was going to enjoy this.

With a tone and stare that said this was a waste of her time she replied, "You want gold? Take it, it's my gift, to honour your courage. Take what you wish." She was about to move again when something in Agamemnon's eyes stopped her.

"I already have. Aphareus! Haemon!" he shouted to unseen guards.

Two men Achilles assumed would be guards actually turned out to be soldiers and they dragged a struggling third man into the middle of the tent. It took a moment but the soft curls and once fine clothes identified him. Paris. It was obvious he had been beaten again since she had seen him last. For a moment she didn't know what she should do, how she should act, but then she saw Agamemnon look at the young man in a way that made her stomach turn. But, no, he wouldn't; would he?

Agamemnon walked over to the three men and eyed Paris appreciatively. Even though he himself didn't choose to lay with men he couldn't deny the boy really was beautiful, despite the cuts and bruises to his face. And he could already see that Achilles had noticed how the king stared by the way she glared at him. There was an unspoken threat there, he could see it in her eyes clear as he could tell the colour of them had darkened to a furious sapphire. But it wouldn't hurt to twist the knife a little more. "The spoils of war," he said matter-of-factly. "Tonight I'll have him give me a bath," he lied, "And then…who knows?" He saw the unknown boys eyes widen in fear and revulsion at the thought but his focus was not on him; it was on the seething female warrior.

The woman couldn't control herself. The very thought of Paris being abused in any way turned her stomach but the image of Agamemnon doing the abusing snapped the thin thread holding her together. In a lightning fast move Achilles drew her sword and prepared to kill anyone that dared harm Paris. All acts were dropped now and her intentions were clear to all. She was going to protect the boy. She glared at the men holding Paris and growled, "I have no quarrel with you, brothers. But you'll never see home again if you don't let him go. Decide!" At that moment she had never meant anything more.

It was clear the soldiers were torn. Did they disobey their king and hope he showed mercy, or did they take their chances that Achilles was bluffing? It was obvious to them which was more likely and they hesitantly drew their swords.

So this was how it was to be. Achilles hardened herself against killing needlessly and moved toward the soldiers. But a male voice made her freeze in her tracks. "Stop!" Paris shouted. He stared at Achilles and she stared back, waiting to hear what he was going to say. "Too many people have died today." The image of all those dead bodies littering the beach was one that would stay with him until the day he died. In this one day he had seen enough death to last two lifetimes. And he had had enough. He conveyed his loathing of her actions through his eyes and said angrily, "If killing is your only talent then it's your curse. But I don't want anyone dying for me." He silently pleaded with her to stop this and watched the play of emotions across her face as she battled two sides of herself.

One side finally won and with a sigh that flared her nostrils she drops the attack stance she had subconsciously moved into and raked her hand through her hair, trying to shake off the tension in her muscles and ignore the rush of adrenaline she always got before a fight.

The pregnant silence was broken by Agamemnon's laugh and highly amused voice as he said, "Mighty Achilles, silenced by a slave boy!"

Without missing a beat the woman snapped, "He is not a slave." Her rage was almost uncontrollable and it amazed her that she hadn't killed all the Greeks in that room by now. Her hands were twitching with the desire to swing her sword with the deadly accuracy she had nurtured her whole life. But her thoughts were shattered when she heard the Greek King say something that sent a shudder of disgust and suppressed violence through her

His meaningful tone and mocking gaze was almost her undoing when he smirked, "He is now."

With burning eyes Achilles raised her sword and pointed the deadly tip at Agamemnon. Her dangerously low voice was cold as ice as she promised the King, "Before my time is done, King of Kings, I will look down on your corpse and smile." Feeling her control fray to almost nothing Achilles turned on her heel and stormed out of the tent, her boots thudding loudly on the wooden floor as she went.

Paris watched the warrior leave with something approaching despair. He didn't know what was to come of him but he knew his only hope of salvation rested with that woman. The mighty walls of Troy would not help him now.

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What do you think? Sorry if you think Agamemnon faking homosexual tendancies was a bit over the top. If you don't like that kind of thing I'll warn you if it's going to happen again. I think there will only be one more bit like that but I'll make it clear which bit it is so you can skip it if you want. I don't want to offend anyone :)

I'll try and get the next bit up soon but I've really got to get moving on my other fic. I've only got another two chapters to go on that one so it's kinda tempting to put everything else on hold for a litle while. It won't take long, either way.

Have a good one:)


	10. A Brave Offer

I cannot begin to say how totally sorry I am for abandoning you for the past few weeks. The internet had been royally screwed with so I couldn't get online until just now. But how dedicated is that! This is one of the first things I do as soon as it's back on track! Well, that and check the mountain of emails I had stacked up. Can you even have 'stacked emails'? Then all being on the computer an'all.

What the hell am I talking about!Lol. Obviously internet deprivation has seriously affected my very little brain. Anyway, I'm gonna shut up and let you get on with reading the next two chapters I'm posting for you. Drop me a line when you're done and let me know how I can improve. I'll love you forever:)

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Chapter 10

Hours later and Paris was still in that tent. He was sat on the ground trying to be as still and silent as possible. Agamemnon was speaking with Menelaus about the coming battle the next day. The two Kings had been extremely amused at finding the Prince of Troy had been captured by the Myrmidons. Menelaus had immediately wanted to kill the boy but Agamemnon had to explain to him the obvious attachment Achilles had displayed toward him. If they killed him now they risked losing her favour and her sword. They needed both. So they kept him captive. After all, it wasn't every day they were given a chance to completely destroy a man's spirit this thoroughly.

Paris listened to them plot and scheme and heard their plans for what they would do to his home once they got within the walls. This was all his fault. Troy would burn to the ground because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. He knew what he had to do and knew what the consequences would be but he knew it was what he deserved.

When the two older men laughed at something Paris neither heard nor cared about he couldn't take it anymore. He got shakily to his feet and said as confidently as he could manage, "There won't be a war." Instantly the Kings were silenced and turned stunned expressions on him. He could see they weren't about to ignore him until he explained so he carried on. "This is not a conflict of nations. It is a dispute between two men. And I don't want to see another Trojan die because of me." The more he spoke the more confidence he gained. And the fact that neither King had turned away or laughed and were obviously listening increased his boldness. "I love Helen. I won't give her up and neither will you. So tomorrow, when you ride to Troy, let's fight our own battle. The winner will take Helen home. And that will be the end of it!" He sounded an awful lot more confident than he felt. He knew that by doing this he was not only condemning himself but Helen as well. But it was the only way. He couldn't take the chance of them getting through the walls and killing every Trojan man woman and child including Helen and his family. This was the only way. He just had to hope Menelaus was as slow as his large build and advancing years would have him believe. Maybe he could win this.

Agamemnon gave a self-important smirk and said patronisingly, "A brave offer. But not enough." He had actually been surprised by Paris' suggestion. He had him pinned as more of a coward than that. But he always knew war could do strange things to a man.

Menelaus grabbed his brother's arm and turned him away, talking in a hushed voice to the waiting Prince wouldn't overhear. "Let me kill this little peacock!" he insisted.

But the older man would hear none of it. "I didn't come here for your pretty wife. I came here for Troy."

"And I came for my honour. His every breath insults me." He paused, knowing this was not the way to win over his brother. "Let me kill him. When he's lying in the dust you give the order to attack. I'll have my revenge, you'll have your city." He waited for Agamemnon's decision and got his answer when he nodded thoughtfully. He felt a stab of satisfaction and turned to give Paris his response. "I accept your challenge," he growled. "And tomorrow I'll drink to your bones."

With that he walked from the tent, confident in the knowledge that by the end of tomorrow at least one of his problems would be dealt with.


	11. Talking to Shadows

Chapter 11

Achilles had never been so angry or so blatantly insulted in all her life. The women at home whispering behind her back was nothing compared to Agamemnon's obvious disregard for the position she really held in this war. She could end this in a day if she wished it. But the King had disrespected her for the last time.

She sat on the floor of her tent, staring at her bronze sword that she held balanced on her outstretched arms, wondering what would come of this day. She highly doubted the Greeks would succeed today. She could already hear them heading out but she tried to ignore the clatter of armour and the stomping of booted feet. It mattered little to her whether her men fought or not, but her heart still bled for the faithful soldiers that would not return to the camp. Many men would lose their lives at the senseless order of one King.

Her mind and heart revolted at the idea of this. A King was just one man, made of the same flesh and blood as the rest, yet he felt he had the right to put himself above others, to decide whether they lived or died. It made no sense to her and her head spun just attempting to understand the reasoning behind it. There was no such thing as blue blood. No such thing as being 'ordained by the gods.' There was just humanity. A single race brought together in the struggle to survive. But instead of helping one another build a life they annihilate entire cities out of greed, to take what they have and make it their own.

Her thoughts on this were not pleasant ones. Not only did it make her hate her fellow man with a passion, but it also made her face up to her own choice of existence. She was no better than the men she despised. In fact she was worse. They killed in defence of their country and family. They fought for what they believed in. Why did she kill? What did she fight for?

"Nothing!" she snapped bitterly, flipping the sword in the air only to catch it and thrust it angrily into the sand. Achilles got to her feet and turned to face Eudorus and Patroclus expectantly as they stood at the entrance to her tent. She raised and eyebrow as if to say, "Well? What are you doing here?"

In response to her unspoken question the Myrmidon captain said, "My Lady, the army is marching."

With that Achilles sighed and began pacing back and forth, staring with a furious expression and the ground she walked on. "Let them march. We stay," she commanded.

"But my Lady…" Eudorus went to challenge her but the objection died in his throat when she glared at him with her piercing blue eyes. Unable to think, he stuttered, "The men are ready," by way of an explanation.

Rounding on him Achilles felt a small piece of suppressed anger come to the surface. She shouted, "Agamemnon spat on my honour yesterday. I promised that boy his safety and he stole him from me." She dragged in a deep breath and released it with a growled, "Let _Agamemnon_ fight the Trojans today."

Eudorus nodded and left, pausing to say over his shoulder, "I saw them put the boy in a chariot. They're taking him with them to Troy." Then he was gone to tell the men they wouldn't be seeing battle today.

Achilles stopped pacing and glared after the retreating man for a few moments she entertained thoughts of going to retrieve Paris but quickly squashed the idea. It would do nothing except show Agamemnon he had found a pressure point. Giving him this knowledge would be like asking him to squeeze. And he would. He always did when he found a way to make her life Hell.

So she tried to push her growing worry from her mind but it didn't work. All she could see was Paris' beautiful face and body battered and bloody as he was left for the crows. With that image in her mind she came to appear dejected, almost defeated. She dropped her head and stared once again at the sand. In a quiet, thoughtful voice Achilles said to Patroclus who remained waiting at the entrance to her tent, "When I was very small, I saw my father kill a man with his bare hands." She didn't see the look of discomfort on her cousin's face. So lost in her own thoughts she carried on speaking without really thinking about what she was saying. "There's so much blood in a human body."

She then came from her obviously painful memories and lifted her sword from the ground. As she examined the edge of the blade she asked her cousin, "You're ready to fight, Patroclus?" When he didn't hesitated to say he was she looked at him, examining his face for any sign of doubt. "You're ready to kill?" At his hesitation Achilles slipped back into her quiet tone and said with a hint of regret and self loathing, "At night I see their faces. All the men I've killed. I see them standing on the far bank of the River Styx." She paused, glancing briefly up at him before returning her eyes to the ground. "They're waiting for me." In her mind she could see them as clearly as she could see Patroclus now, stood at the entrance to her tent, unsure whether to be worried or pleased that his cousin was showing some emotion toward her victims. "Some nights I walk among them. When I wake I can still here their words." She closed her eyes and frowned. "They say, 'Welcome, Achilles.'"

Achilles shook off her moment of depression and then came the tone of voice that made her sound like the leader she really was. The leader she was born to be. "Never hate the men you kill. All of us are mortals. All of us, wretched things, tumbled crying from our mother's loins. Only the gods are free from sorrows."

Patroclus finally found his voice but lacked the courage to say more than, "I hate no one."

"Good," Achilles responded, pleased he was listening carefully. "I taught you how to fight, but I never taught you why to fight."

"I fight for you," the boy said without reservation or doubt. He knew why he was here and what he believed in. But all his determination was thrown into question with one simple question from his older cousin.

"And who will you follow when I'm gone?" She saw clearly the he hadn't thought any further than this war. He didn't realise that taking up a life like this was exactly that. A life. Whole and without exception. It was all day every day from the moment you started down this course to the moment your heart stops its steady beat. The Myrmidons would still be here if she fell and Patroclus would still be a part of it. But he wouldn't last long if his reason to fight was taken away. "Most soldiers battle for Kings they've never met," she said, adding silently, 'Whereas I fight for a king I know and despise. What sweet irony.' "They do what they're told; they die when they are told to die."

"Soldiers obey," her cousin said with wavering convictions.

With a kind smile she reserved only for family she said gently, "We don't have much time to walk in the sun, Patroclus. After this comes the underworld, an eternity telling storied to other shades." Her expression became hard again. "Don't tell them you died following some fool's orders."

His heart sufficiently dropped Patroclus asked her, "And what should I tell them?"

Seeing his deflated spirit she said, "Tell them your name. If your life has been worthy, they'll know the rest." With a small smile Patroclus left her to her thoughts.

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Well, that's it for a little while. I hope you liked it and I'll post another one soon. As long as Broadband doesn't screw itself up again, that is. Thanks for the reviews I've been getting. I hope I haven't disappointed you or anything. If I have let me know how I can do better and I'll rework it for'ya.

Take care:)


	12. Everything Ends

Heya, everybody. It's been a while but I'm back again. Thanks to my reviewers. I hope you like this as much as you liked the others.

I know this is just rewriting a scene from the movie but I really need to get it from both perspectives. And I find Paris' reaction to this situation fascinating. So I thought I'd try a put across what I thought he would be thinking. Let me know what you think and I'll try and make alterations if you think it needs it. Enjoy!

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Chapter 12

Paris had never been so terrified in his whole life. His wrists were tied to the back of Agamemnon's chariot and his legs were dangling over the back. He couldn't hold his feet off the ground so his heels were already cut and bleeding. Dust had mixed with the blood so make a sticky paste that was steadily coating his feet and ankles. But he wasn't really paying any attention to the pain. All he could do was look over his shoulder at the walls of his city as they got closer and closer.

In front of the gates he could see the glistening armour of Trojan soldiers waiting for what they knew to be the greatest battle to ever be fought. In the centre of it all he saw his brother mounted on his horse, waiting for Kings to arrive. Paris could see people crowding the top of the walls and knew Helen and his father would be up there. He felt himself give a bitter smirk and thought to himself, 'That's all I need. Not only am I going to be killed and condemn the woman I love to no better a fate, but I have to have an audience to witness my final humiliation.'

Within too few minutes the signal was given for the army to stop marching and an oppressive silence fell over the battle field that was only broken by the now amplified sound of chariot wheels rolling over the rough ground. Paris snapped his head back round to the front when he heard the heavy hoof beats steadily approaching.

The chariots ground to a halt and Agamemnon turned to Paris who was craning his neck to see Hector riding toward them. He nodded to a nearby soldier who stepped forward and cut the rope holding the Prince's wrists to the chariot. He then yanked the young prince to his feet and half dragged him along behind the kings.

Hector's chest constricted at the sight of his little brother, battered and bruised being hauled along behind Agamemnon. Paris' wide eyes locked onto his with nothing short of pleading. He was wordlessly screaming for his brother to help him, to let him live, telling him he didn't want to die. It was almost too much for the strong warrior to bear. With anger gleaming in his eyes Hector looked back at the King who stood confidently opposite him. Paris was now stood just behind Agamemnon, close enough for him to see clearly the cuts on his face and the shaking of his hands. He was brought from his thoughts by Agamemnon addressing him with mocking friendliness.

"I see you're not hiding behind your walls. Valiant of you. Ill advised, but valiant." He was almost smiling pleasantly but Hector could see the malice and hatred behind those eyes.

He ignored Agamemnon's taunt and replied, "You come here uninvited. Release Paris and go back to your ships. Go home." He struggled to keep emotion from his voice or expression. He couldn't let them see how close he was to giving in to his rage at seeing how his brother was being treated. He noticed that while the kings were preoccupied with the discussion Paris had begun to edge toward him, away from Agamemnon.

"I'm afraid we've come too far, Prince Hector," he said with mock remorse. He almost sounded like he was sorry for bringing this war to Troy. He almost sounded like he wished he didn't have to do this. But only almost. Both sides of this war knew he had been waiting for an excuse to crush the Trojans for years. He was the happiest he had been in months.

Menelaus couldn't swallow the snort of disgust. "Prince? Theses are no princes. What son of a king would accept a man's hospitality, eat his food, drink his wine, embrace him in friendship and then steal his wife in the middle of the night?" He glared at Paris, nearly shaking with anticipation of the kill.

Unable to help himself, Paris snapped, "The sun was shining when your wife left you." He instantly regretted his words when Menelaus drew his sword with a jerk. Hector's hand instantly went to the hilt of his own sword.

He pointed it at the city walls, never taking his eyes off Paris. "She's up there watching, isn't she? Good. I want her to watch you die." Then he noticed Hector's gaze flicker slightly. Oh, that's right. He doesn't know about his little brother's upcoming execution, does he?

Agamemnon put a hand on his brothers arm, silently telling him to wait. Hector still thought he was getting his brother back alive. The change may make him less willing to bargain. "Look around you, Hector. I've brought all the warriors of Greece to your shores."

"You can still save Troy, young prince," said Nestor in one of his more persuasive tones.

When Hector said nothing Agamemnon decided to lay his cards out on the table and see what he made of his offer. "I have two wishes. If you grant them, your brother will be returned to you and no more of your people need die. First, give Helen back to my brother. Second, Troy must submit to my command, to fight for me whenever I call. What say you, Prince Hector?"

Hector had been somewhat prepared for dealing with an ultimatum like this but he hadn't ever thought his brother would be involved in it. But his response had to be the same. All there lives were at stake anyway. It made little difference really, even if his heart was screaming at him to do whatever necessary to ensure his brother's safety. So, concealing his inner turmoil, he responded confidently, "You want me to look upon your army and tremble. Well, I see them. I see fifty thousand men brought here to fight for one man's greed."

That struck a nerve. "Be careful, boy. My mercy has limits," Agamemnon threatened.

He had unsettled him. That was good. "I've seen the limits of your mercy and I tell you now that no son of Troy will ever submit to a foreign ruler." He knew his people. Even if he told them to follow Agamemnon's orders they would never go along with it. They were too loyal to their own country and their own rulers. And to him. He wasn't a vain man but he had seen over the years that he had earned the people's trust and love. They wouldn't let him jeopardise that now. Even if it meant many of their lives.

A stab of sadistic pleasure twisted Agamemnon's insides when he heard Hector's refusal. Now he would get the result he truly wanted. "Then every son of Troy shall die." He wasn't threatening now. It was a promise. If he couldn't control Troy he would destroy it. Nothing would stand in his way of being the ultimate ruler of Greece.

"There is another way."

All eyes turned to Paris. They had been so caught up in talk of war they had almost forgotten Paris' presence. And Agamemnon had certainly let himself ignore Paris' challenge. But now it came back to it, he was glad the boy had chosen this path. Now his death could not be blamed on anyone but himself. Agamemnon wouldn't be seen as responsible. He concealed a satisfied smile.

Off Hector's stare that said, "You're not about to do what I think you're about to do!" Paris said calmly to his brother, "Last night I challenged Menelaus for the right to Helen and he accepted. This morning we will fight our own battle and the winner will take her home. The loser will burn before nightfall." His eyes were bright from a combination of determination and mortal fear. He knew he was about to die but he'd had all last night to convince himself it was the only way. And he had accepted this.

Hector was ready to scream with frustration. He cast a murderous glance at Menelaus who then went to fetch his shield. A soldier cut the bonds on Paris' wrists and the prince absently rubbed at the sore flesh. Hector then grabbed Paris by the arm and walked him back to his horse where the younger prince began to prepare for the fight. A nearby soldier trotted over on his horse and offered his armour. Paris accepted this gratefully and readied himself. But his hands shook as he tried to fasten buckles and tie laces.

The older prince finally found his voice and as he brushed Paris' hands aside to aid him he talked. "Why are you doing this? Agamemnon did not bring fifty thousand Greeks to our gate just to watch you fight. You know this." Paris remained silent, thinking his reasons were best left unspoken. Hector couldn't understand what possessed his brother to suggest such a suicidal course of action. He had never fought a man before. He had practiced of course but had never been in a situation where his life was in danger. And Hector had been partially responsible for that.

Ever since Paris was born Hector had protected him, watched out for him. He was one of the strongest voices supporting the decision that Paris not be sent to war. In his eyes he was still a little boy that needed his older brother to defend him. Why did Paris have to choose now to assert his independence? Why couldn't he just let Hector handle it like he always did!

But thinking like this wasn't going to help him. So as an experienced soldier he offered what advice he could. "He doesn't have the stamina he once did. Make him swing and miss. He'll tire." Paris could only nod. His thoughts were only on one thing.

He opened his mouth but found his voice wouldn't form the words. He tried again and succeeded this time. "If I fall… tell Helen… tell her…"

"I will." This felt far too much like a goodbye to Hector and he didn't like it.

Paris was scared. More scared than he had ever been. He didn't want to die. He wanted nothing more than to leap onto his horse, gallop back to the city and lock himself in his rooms until the war was over. But more than fear for himself was fear for Helen. "Don't let Menelaus hurt her. Make him swear…"

Grabbing his arm, Hector demanded, "You think about your sword and his sword and nothing else!" Paris nodded once again before he was embraced in a tight hug which he gratefully returned.

When Hector released him he thought his knees were going to give out beneath him. But he looked over his brother's shoulder at the wall of Troy, seeing the awning beneath which stood his love. The woman that almost made all this worth the suffering. But it would only be worth it if he won this fight today. If not then it would have been better to leave her where she was and pretend the most beautiful week of his life was nothing more than a dream that felt far too real. If he lost, live or die, he could never go back to her. This wasn't just trying to win her and stop this war. It was also deciding a battle within himself. Could he, after all this, allow his relationship with her to continue? Even before the Greeks arrived, whenever he looked at Helen he was reminded of his selfishness and stupidity. He was reminded of all the people that would die because he brought her here. The cost of their love had poisoned it and even as he thought it he knew he had been wrong. He loved her, he never doubted that, but there was something deep within him that made him hate this love. And it was slowly destroying them both. During the weeks they had spent together he had seen it eat away at her. The guilt was destroying them both. Live or die, for him everything ended today.


	13. Looking for Answers

Again, thanks for the reviews. Sorry this took a little longer than I expected but here it is. Two chapters cos it isn't very long. Don't know when the next one will be up but I'll try my best.

Enjoy :)

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Chapter 13

Achilles listened to the silence thinking to herself, 'It's too quiet. There should be a battle going on by now.' She had been sulking since Patroclus left her alone and was running out of things to keep her mind occupied. No matter what she did to busy herself her thoughts always came back to one thing. What were they doing to Paris? She had to know. If they killed him, gave him back to the Trojans or let him fight in the war (which she knew would be the same as just slitting his throat before the battle even began) she had to know his fate. Whether she let others see it or not she was concerned for the boy. She didn't want him to die or suffer needlessly. So, impatience nearly driving her mad, she got to her feet and stormed out of her tent, heading for the battlefield.

When she got there she saw a sight that was rather strange. Two armies, ready for battle and waiting for the order, stood with weapons in hand but not moving a muscle. Between them stood a small group of men she knew and recognised easily. But her eyes were instantly drawn to the two Trojans. Hector was stood alone and Paris was standing beside Agamemnon. They were all just stood there talking and Achilles had enough experience of Agamemnon to know what he was offering them. And he also know from his reputation that Hector would refuse. Where Paris came in all this she had no idea. But she was sure she would find out soon enough. So she stood and waited, tapping her foot and shifting her weight as she did.

She seemed to get her answer when Paris' bonds were cut and he walked back toward the Trojan army with Hector but she frowned when she saw him take armour from a soldier and saw Menelaus retrieve his helm and shield from his chariot. No, he wasn't really going to fight Menelaus, was he? Surely he wasn't suicidal yet. But she was proved wrong as the two brothers embraced and Paris walked out to meet Melenaus who stood waiting for him.

The next few minutes were filled with conflicting emotions. All at once she felt frustration, concern, anger, helplessness and amusement. No matter if her gut flipped painfully when he was hurt or knocked down. It was grimly amusing to see a Trojan prince be beaten so thoroughly by someone more than twice his age and weight. Achilles would have finished this fight before Menelaus could make the first swing with his sword. But Paris was almost beaten already.

Then all humour was lost when Paris gave a cry of pain, staggered and fell to the dusty ground clutching his thigh. Achilles squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, dragging all ten fingers through her tangled hair in frustration. She turned back just in time to see the sword of Troy fly from Paris' hand. She sighed felt a stab of pain in her gut. He was as good as dead now.

Paris knelt on the ground in front of Menelaus and Achilles knew the young Prince was about to die. "Run, Paris. Run," she urged out loud. "Honour is not worth dying for. Live to redeem yourself." Even as she spoke those words she realised what she was saying. If put in his position she knew she would sacrifice her life if it meant keeping her pride and honour. But looking on this fight she began to question herself, asking why. What was so important about honour and pride that made her willing to die rather than temporarily lose the respect of others?

She was surprised to find she had no answer.


	14. A Brother's Love

Chapter 14

Paris was about to die. Even as he had walked to fight Menelaus he hadn't truly appreciated the fact but now there was no disputing it. He knelt still holding his wounded leg and watched as the large man approached. His heart was pounding so hard it ached. He couldn't breath, it felt like the armour was suffocating him. Stars were exploding across his vision and the ground undulated beneath him.

But his mind cleared rapidly as he felt the touch of bronze to his shoulder. His breathing, although laboured, rapidly sped up. No, this couldn't be it. He knew he had lost the fight and he accepted that, but he didn't want to die. There are no words to descried hoe utterly terrified he was and it was all he could manage not to cry. His thoughts reeled and all he could focus on was how to save himself. When Menelaus drew his sword arm back to strike Paris reacted reflexively, jerking himself backward just in time to miss the swipe that would have taken his head from his shoulders. He then turned his back to the king and half staggered, half crawled toward his brother.

In the back of his mind he felt the unbearable agony of shame when Menelaus roared to Helen, "Is this what you left me for!" But he didn't care. He couldn't die. He could just sit there and let himself be killed. No matter what he may have said or thought over the last few days he wanted to live. It wasn't because he wanted to make up for all the wrongs he had committed, it wasn't because he wanted to try and defeat Menelaus again, it wasn't even so he might be able to protect Helen when the Greeks attacked. There was no heroic reason, no honourable cause that prompted his actions. It was simply the desire to stay alive.

When he reached Hector he was about finished. He could hardly move for the wounds to his body and soul so he just stayed sprawled on the ground gripping Hector's leg in a silent plea to save his worthless life, to defend his helpless little brother like he had done countless times before. He only prayed he hadn't betrayed Hector so much that he felt it was what Paris deserved and left him to his fate.

Achilles breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Paris flee. Hector would protect him now. And he would have to. Menelaus would kill the boy at the prince's feet if he had to. She had realised this fight was about revenge for the king. He knew he would win but the victory wasn't what he cared about. It was all so he could see Paris lying dead in the dust, so he could watch the smoke rise from his pyre and hear the cries of grief from Helen as she watched her lover burn.

Menelaus growled taunts at the prince. He couldn't believe the son of the great Priam would run like this. "Fight me, you coward! Fight me!" But he didn't even look back. He just knelt there by his brother and shook like a frightened dog. "We have a pact. Fight!" The king saw Hector look despairingly from Paris to him. To them both he Menelaus shouted, "This is not honour. This is not worthy of royalty." When neither brother made any move he said angrily, "If he doesn't fight, Troy is doomed."

Hector was beginning to panic. The situation was rapidly getting out of his control. "Paris?" He knew his brother couldn't go on but wanted to at least give him the chance to get up.

But Paris just shook his head. "No." He couldn't fight anymore. He could barely move or see clearly. Fear had absolutely paralysed him. "No," he said again feeling his limbs still trembling.

The older prince looked back to Menelaus gravely. "This fight is over. Take your prize and go." He looked over his shoulder and made to gesture to the guards on top of the wall but both Paris and Menelaus stopped him.

Paris' grip on Hectors leg became painful and he raised his head to stare at him. _Make him swear…_ Hector hadn't forgotten. But Menelaus wasn't about to give up just like that. "This fight is not over. Stand back Prince Hector." Hector didn't move, just watched the man, silently daring him to do what he suspected. "I'll kill him at your feet. I don't care!"

"He's my brother." That summed it all up. A brother's love would go beyond anything the world could throw at them. And right now Hector knew he couldn't have let Paris die. Even before he ran Hector had his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to charge in and save his life if he needed to. And now the need to protect him was all the stronger.

Menelaus couldn't stand the humiliation any longer. He raised his sword and with a cry went for Paris. But Hector was ready and swiftly drew his own sword as he had been prepared to do since the first blow was struck that morning. He thrust forward hard, driving the bronze through Menelaus' breastplate until the sharp tip drove out through the other side. In shock Menelaus looked down at the blade through his armour and the burning point straight through his chest that was now rapidly leaking blood. Hector yanked the sword free and watched the king fall to the ground. He made neither sound nor movement as he just lay there and died, staring up at the crows as they circled overhead.

Paris couldn't believe it. Menelaus was dead and he was alive. He was back outside the city gates with his brother right next to him. He was alright. In one hell of a lot of pain, but alright.

But that changed when he heard Agamemnon's battle cry from behind him. The pure anger it contained knocked the wind out of him and once again he found he couldn't move. The thudding of feet and hooves made the ground tremble beneath him and he was barely aware that Hector was trying to get him to his feet. But his entire body was frozen. Was he going to survive the fight with Menelaus only to be cut down by an anonymous Greek soldier? Strong arms grabbed him and hauled him up and he somehow managed to stand but then out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint in the dust between himself and the Greeks. 'The sword of Troy,' he thought. He couldn't leave it. Not after everything else he had done wrong in his life. He couldn't lose that as well. So he broke from his brother's grip and tried to run back toward the fallen sword. But blood loss, pain and exhaustion was taking its toll and he couldn't move as fast as he needed to. By the time he had dropped to the ground and picked up the sword the army was almost upon him and nearly all his reserve strength was gone. Hector was galloping toward him with another horse but he was too late. As he felt the last of his energy leave him a blinding pain exploded in the back of his head and everything went black.

Achilles looked on and nearly screamed in frustration. She shouted an oath to vile she even caught herself by surprise. He would sacrifice himself for a sword! That boy was even more stupid than she thought! But at least he wasn't dead. She had been able to make out the blow as a dull strike to the back of the head. Just knocked unconscious instead of killed. He had then been swept up in the rest of the army and she had to struggle to see what became of him. He was dragged toward one of the other kings—she suspected it to be Triopas—and tossed into the chariot. Agamemnon then signalled his ally to take him back to the ships.

Seeing the king nod and leave with the prince Achilles turned on her heel and left the Greeks to their fate. They deserved whatever they got now.

Hector had never let his emotions crowd his judgement in wars before. But now, seeing his little brother being once again taken captive by these Greeks, it became as close to personal as it could. So grit his teeth, gathered his strength and led his Trojan army with a fury never before seen. "For Troy!"

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Ok, it wasn't much of a cliffhanger but what'll you do:) Hope you liked it. I know this isn't the greatest story of all time but... it was an idea. I had to run with it.Lol. Keep the reviews coming. That's the only way I'll know what you think. I should get the next one up soon. I hope so, anyway.

Take care :)


	15. Retreat

Hello again. I know, it's short, it's uneventful and absolutely nothing happens. But I have to start slowwing down with the updates. I'm running out of backdated chapters and am wrestling with writer's block. Using the script as a crutch doesn't help you when you're trying to add something of your own so you'll have to bear with me. But there will be another update soon and the story will really be getting a move on when it's up. I promise! So forgive my crappy little offering to the Update Faerie and I'll make it up to you in a little while.

I can't thank my reviewers enough for the continuing support. I know I haven't really earnt it this time so I'm not even going to bother asking you to review. I already know it isn't worth the effort!Lol :) Thanks for reading, all the same.

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Chapter 15

Keeping out of sight, Achilles sprinted back to the ships. Every chance she got she would come in sight of the chariot close enough to check on Paris and make sure he wasn't dumped in a hole somewhere. He was limp and unmoving in the king's chariot, his face pale and clammy. Blood steadily oozed from his nose and lip. But every now and then she caught his body convulse with coughing. Before they reached the camp dust and sand was smeared over every inch of sweaty, exposed skin and the blood had mixed with the dirt making a sticky mess across his beautiful face. That was the last time she saw him as the chariot pulled into the camp and Achilles had to swerve to the left and away from the Greeks to avoid being seen chasing after a Trojan prisoner.

She sprinted back to her tent and noticed her men were gone. 'Probably went to watch the battle.' For a moment she regretted leaving so early. People she knew and loved were fighting and yet she had left them to their fate so she could watch over the boy. But it strangely didn't worry her. She knew she had made the right decision. Agamemnon would know if she stayed to watch and would take it as a strike to him. He would think he had gotten her attention by bringing the boy with him. In truth, he had but she wouldn't let him see that.

So she settled herself in her tent, poured herself some wine and grabbed a basin of water, washing the dust and dirt off her body. While she sat there, clean and wearing fresh clothes, she listened to the war raging on in the distance. It was odd. She was listening to the sound of men dying. Hundreds of men were being mercilessly cut down just because one man decided to steal a woman that didn't belong to him.

No, she reminded herself. It had nothing to do with Paris and Helen. Their understandable actions were just unfortunately the excuse Agamemnon had been waiting for. She knew them both well enough to uderstand that, even if Menelaus had killed Paris, Agamemnon would still have given the signal to attack. He had come too far and with too many soldiers just to watch a glorified execution. It would not have ended with Paris lying dead in the dust. Agamemnon's greed was far too powerful for something as simple as honour to get in his way. He would have charged the gates, battered down the walls of Troy and killed ever Trojan man woman and child so no one would live who knew the great king of Greece had violated an agreement to win a war.

Achilles' ears pricked up when she heard the sound of the battle change. She had fought in enough wars to recognise the sound of defeat when she heard it. Although, she had never heard the sound coming from her side before. Amongst the shouts, screams and roars of war she heard the clear word, "Retreat!" being shouted, getting closer and closer. It was clear to her what had happened now. The Greeks had underestimated the Trojans. She wasn't in the least bit surprised. Over the years she had learnt something that applied so well to this war.

One man defending his home was stronger than ten hired soldiers. (AN:Yeah, I know. I stole that from 'Robin Hood'. I admit it!)

Obviously Agamemnon hadn't heard this before. Even though she had no idea where he was she could feel his humiliation and rage rippling furiously across the camp. The other leaders were in for one hell of a show when they gathered together that night.


	16. Peace Offering

Hello again. Once more I must appologise for abandoning this project. For weeks my muse had been totally uncooperative, then real life had to be put first. After that I got hooked writing a Kingdom of Heaven story which I probably won't post until it's finished. So, here I am and ready to get back on the Fanfiction band-wagon.Lol.

Thanks for the great reviews. If I hadn't heard from you I wouldn't have bothered coming back. And to the people that put this story in their C2's thanks tonnes! I when I saw that you had I think I may have squealed a little hangs head in shame but can you blame me? This is really cool!Lol.

Anyway, on with the story. Keep the reviews coming. As I've said before, they are what keeps me posting.

Oh, and I feel I must warn you of the semi-gay content coming up. Nothing _actually_ happens but, let me put it this way. We're about two inches away from something happening. I flinched when I wrote it but it's necessary. If you're ok with that kind of thing then feel free and ignore me. If you're not, I hope you're not offended. It'll be the first and the last time anything like that is in my story.

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Chapter 16

Hours later, after the sun had set and the surviving Greeks had returned to the ships, a familiar face appeared through the tent flaps. Feeling a swell of gratefulness Achilles got up and moved to hug her friend. "Odysseus. It is so good to see you unhurt, my friend! I was worried."

The man laughed and returned the embrace. "Are you sure you want to admit that? Your men might hear and think you've gone soft," he joked.

"Swear you will never utter a word of this or I will have your head on a spit in the blink of an eye," she replied not losing her happy smile. (I'm not going to use it later so I thought I'd slip it in now, as I love it so much.) Well, what would pass for happy when one thinks of Achilles and her constant grim expression. A half-smirk that was allowed to reach her eyes.

Odysseus just laughed and kissed her brow. He knew she was all talk when it came to her friends. "I bring a peace offering from Agamemnon, my friend." He raised from his side a beautiful, gleaming bronze sword. The hilt was decorated with gold and sparkled gloriously in the firelight. The sword of Troy. She snapped her now wide eyes to meet her friend's, dreading what this could be saying. But she felt a wave of relief when Odysseus said. "He says you are free to fetch the boy." Achilles was unwilling to show her emotions even to this man so she remained still, keeping her face impassive. She just raised an eyebrow and waited for Odysseus to go on. There was a troubled air about him that didn't sit right. "Achilles, you must hurry and find him. When Agamemnon returned from losing to the Trojans he gave the boy to the men, saying they needed some cheering up. You and I both know what it would take to 'cheer them up' after a loss like that."

Before he could finish speaking Achilles had dashed past him and was running through the camp, straining her eyes and ears as she weaved in and out of tents and men, ignoring their questioning stares and called greetings. Her blood ran cold at the thought of what the men would do to Paris. Many would recognise him and he would be hated on various levels. Firstly because he was an enemy prince. That in itself was worth more than she wanted to think about. Then add on a second level. He displayed an act of supreme cowardice in front of his entire kingdom which sentenced his people to almost certain death. And thirdly. He was a beautiful young man. Although he would not be hated for this she knew at least some of the men would find his beauty… appealing and would take advantage of the fact that he was at their mercy.

Thankfully, before she could think any further on this matter, she caught the sound of laughing and cheering not too far away. After the deaths of so many of their comrades the sound was somewhat strange. She slowed to a purposeful walk and felt her muscles tense with anticipation. As she rounded a corner and saw the cause for merriment Achilles wanted to be sick. But within moments that nausea was overtaken by rage and she stormed toward the soldiers, barely controlling her urge to rush in and kill them all where they stood.

A large fire was blazing in the centre of the camp and right next to it a stake had been driven into the ground. And tied to it, being taunted and beaten, was Paris. His wrists were high above his head and his eyes were black from bruises. There was just a small scrap of cloth round his hips preserving his modesty and blood trickled from his wrists, nose, mouth and thigh. His ribs were bruised and his legs had long since given up trying to hold his weight. The close proximity to the fire meant his bare back was an ugly red from the heat and the backs of his legs were already starting to look burnt.

Men stood round laughing and shouting while they randomly struck him whenever the urge took them, which was pretty much the whole time. All the while they tore at him with words of hatred and scorn. Even from where she was she could see streaks down his face that had been washed clean by his tears. And she couldn't blame him for any of this. He must know they would use him then kill him and he couldn't lift a finger in his defence. Her usually cold, detached heart went out to him and her pity fuelled her rage, speeding up her stride and increasing her ferocity. If they retaliated they wouldn't live to see the dawn.

Paris wasn't sure how long he had been tied there. He had slipped in and out of consciousness too often to be aware of time. But he was almost certain it was still the same night. He was almost disappointed by that. It felt like it had been longer. For all the pain he was in it should have been longer. His arms, shoulders and chest burned from taking his whole weight for so long and his ribs and stomach ached so much he could barely breathe. The agony from the gash on his thigh had spread throughout his whole leg right up to his hip and he could still feel blood dripping from it. He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it coating his skin and hear it pounding in his ears. He was surrounded by blood and that didn't even stop when he blacked out. Even then he was haunted by dreams of the slaughter he had witnessed that day. He could still hear the screaming.

But that was only when he was allowed time to think. The Greek soldiers wouldn't let him be for long. There was always one that would step forward and land a punch to his face, ribs or gut and he didn't think he could take anymore. Of course, he had been thinking that for over an hour but he still managed to take more. And more. Another punch struck him across the face and his head cracked back against the stake.

When the pounding in his ears eased a little he could hear what they said to him, what they thought of him and what they were going to do to him, and terror clawed at him. But there was no way out. No escape or rescue. His brother wasn't going to save his life this time. It would have been better to let Menelaus kill him on the battle field. At least then he would die with honour, as a Prince of Troy, rather than a Spartan prisoner.

"Trojan coward! Not worthy of being called a prince!" one of them jeered as he punched Paris hard in the stomach. He groaned but could make no other move. He had almost become numb to it, anyway.

"We should kill him now, save ourselves the trouble of doing it in the morning," said another that still stood off to the side, his arms folded across his hairy chest as he stared with hatred at the traitorous captive.

"Nah. It's too much fun breaking him. And besides," said a third Greek walking over to Paris and grabbing him by the jaw bruisingly hard, "He's too pretty to go to waste." This was followed by dirty laughter and Paris thought he was going to be sick. They couldn't be serious. They wouldn't.

A soldier appeared on his other side and let his gaze drag over the prince's body appreciatively. "Yeah, lads. I can see why Menelaus' whore would be persuaded. Maybe we ought to see what the Trojan bastard can do." Shouts of agreement followed, soon accompanied by a hand at his waist, yanking at his last scrap of clothing. Out of sheer desperation Paris jerked his right leg forward, catching the man hard in the groin. He groaned in agony and fell to the ground, clutching at himself and shouting at the other men to teach the boy a lesson.

Three men approached and caught hold of Paris, roughly jerking him round the other way facing the fire. They kicked his legs apart and he felt one of them step right up behind him. He threw his head backward and hit the man in the face but he only retaliated by slamming Paris' head forward into the wood, dazing him completely.

Right by his ear he felt the rough scrape of a beard and smelt the stale breath of one of his captors as he yanked the back of the cloth up, baring Paris' rear and pressing his now fully erect groin against the warm flesh, all the while growling, "Why are you struggling, boy? Better to be a Spartan whore than a Trojan Pri…"

The sentence was abruptly cut off as one of the other soldiers cried, "Achilles!" and for some unknown reason Paris felt a rush of relief so intense it was almost unbearable.

The warrior appeared to have got there not a second too soon. As soon as Aphaereus stepped up behind Paris she stepped into view of the other soldiers. Haemon had just been approaching Paris with a branding iron but he froze the moment his eyes met hers. Colour drained from his face as she took it from his hand and he crumpled to the ground as the iron was whipped through the air and slammed into his head.

Aphaereus spun round, furious at being drawn from his task by this woman, unarmed except for the branding iron. He grabbed a sword stood in the sand next to him and encouraged the rest of the men, "There's only one of her and ten of us!" He swung the weapon toward Achilles and she ducked the blow easily, stepping under his arm so she stood behind him and bringing the iron down bone-crushingly hard onto the back of the man's skull.

"Nine," she corrected threateningly. She swept her enraged blue eyes around the camp and not one man had the will to stand against her. When sure the fight was over she threw the iron into the sand and walked over to Paris. She took a moment to place a gentle hand on his back and soothed him when he jerked away from her. "Shh. Don't worry. You're safe now," she whispered so none of the other men could hear. Most had left the camp but some had stayed to see what she would do with the boy. She bent down and picked up Aphaereus' sword and swung it at the stake, severing Paris' bonds and releasing him into her supporting arms.

She left the sword imbedded in the wood and had to focus all her energy onto holding onto the slightly larger man's limp form. He cried out loudly in agony when his battered body collapsed against her. His arms and shoulders felt like they were on fire now they were finally allowed to lower from their permanent position stretched above him. And the only way Achilles could hold him was around the waist, the part that had received the most beatings, and he knew a couple of his ribs were broken. So every step was sending a jarring pain through him making his head spin and his already blurry vision get an awful lot worse.

Not caring about his dignity, only about the practicality of getting Paris out of there as quickly as possible, Achilles bent her knees slightly and took the man's weight completely, gripping his arm with one hand and wrapping her other arm round his thigh. She lifted him over her shoulder, ignoring his groan of protest, focusing fully on bearing the considerable weight. Care little for his dignity as she did, she cared much for her own and fought to keep her back straight, her head held high, and her face devoid of any emotion as she trudged back the the Myrmidon camp.

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Well, there you have it for another little while. I really hope I don't leave it too long before I get around to posting again!Lol. I hope you enjoyed it so far. Let me know what you thought.

Take care, you guys! xxx


	17. Hope, Pity and Forgiveness: M rated

Hurrah! Go me! I don't have to apologise for taking forever this time! does a happy dance I'm not going to bother blabbering on for ages at the beginning of this chapter. I'm just going to say thanks to the people that reviewed and--because of the funky hit-counter--thanks to the people that have read it this far.

Enjoy, people!

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Chapter 17

Achilles ignored the stares she was getting from the men and went straight for her tent. Passing through her camp she didn't even stop when Patroclus got up to follow her. She turned still angry eyes on him and ordered, "Bring food, some clothes and water, hot and cold. Be quick." Then she pulled back the tent flap and they stepped into her temporary home. With the golden glow of the fire illuminating their surroundings she carried the staggering man to a soft heap of furs and cushions and gently set him down.

He grunted in pain at the awkward movement and pressure on his burnt legs. He leaned back, trying to take the weight off his wounds but nothing stopped the various agonies that made getting even remotely comfortable an impossibility. So eventually he gave up and settled on his back, crossing his arms protectively over his torso and bending his legs, lifting the burnt flesh off the ground. He sighed and let his aching head drop back, closing his eyes and letting the fear and tension leave him completely. He knew nothing could get to him here.

But, safe as he was, that didn't mean he liked the fact that he had been rescued from the Greeks only to be captive to yet more Greeks. He was much more comfortable and not as frightened but he was just as far away from home. When he had been sat there a while in uncomfortable silence he saw the boy, Patroclus, stick his head into the tent and pass Achilles the things she had requested. She didn't thank him, just dismissed him with a nod of her head and turned toward Paris. He watched her warily as she came closer holding a brass bowl of warm water and a cloth. His gaze was drawn to her eyes and held there. So blue. It took him a moment to realise she had spoken to him.

Achilles wasn't entirely sure how to handle this situation. She had only ever tended the wounds of her men, never anyone she didn't already see as a brother. This was un-chartered territory for her. So she was going to start slowly. Kneeling next to him she soaked the cloth in the water and wrung it out, saying to him, "I saw you fight them. You have courage." She saw him pause, as if her voice had drawn him from his own thoughts.

When he heard her statement he couldn't help the dry, humourless laugh. "To fight back when people attack me? A dog has that kind of courage." Then he looked at her and saw it plain in her eyes. She knew what he had done. Shame flooded him and he lowered his eyes to the ground. "But, I suppose, after today, I can't even be credited with the courage of a dog." He could only imagine what his father would be thinking of his youngest son. But the female voice to his left brought him back.

"I think you give dogs too much credit."

But Paris wasn't convinced. He glanced up into her eyes and saw all he needed to know. "You think I'm a coward." When she didn't say anything he continued. "I am a coward. I knew he would kill me. You saw, didn't you. You were watching. You know what I did." Again she didn't respond. "Of course you were watching. Everyone was watching. My father… my brother, all of Troy." He was wracked with guilt. He ran from one man when his brother turned and faces fifty-thousand. And in doing so he condemned his people to war and suffering. "It didn't matter. The shame didn't matter. I gave up my pride, my honour, just to live."

Achilles saw he was filled with more self loathing than she could possibly understand so she said what she could to try and put things in perspective. "You forget, you still went out there and fought. You challenged a great warrior. That took courage. And it would have been much easier to just kneel there and let him kill you rather than go back and face the disappointment of your family." She should know. Her father would have felt the same about her as Priam would about Paris. They were very similar, Priam and Peleus.

Paris shook his head and closed his eyes. "No, it goes deeper than just disappointment. If I stayed and fought, if I hadn't run, Menelaus would have won, the battle would be over and no more Trojans would die. I betrayed them all. My whole country, the people I was raised to serve."

"Paris." He looked at her at the sound of her speaking his name. She stood and walked over to her bed and pulled from beneath it something that shone and glistened in the fire-light. "I know more about your people than you realise. And I know what this is and what it symbolises." She handed him the Sword of Troy and he stared at them both in wonder, amazed that it wasn't hoarded with the rest of Agamemnon's treasures and amazed that Achilles would willingly give him back such a valuable prize. "As long as it remains in the hands of a Trojan, your people have a future." She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "If you had died today who would return the sword to its rightful place? And who would be holding it now?" She waited until she had his full attention. "You have saved the hope of Troy, young prince."

At her surprisingly comforting words he felt something stir within him. A spark of hope ignited and determination settled in his heart. He still lived and would redeem himself. He would make his people proud. He would make his _brother_ proud.

Warm water trickled down his torso and he slapped Achilles' hand away, scowling at her. He didn't want anyone touching him after what he had just been through. Especially not a Greek. But she tried to help clean him again, with the same result. And again. Eventually she gave up and threw it at him, which then meant he just had to pick it up and throw it back harder. He . didn't . want . anyone . touching . him!

Containing her temper, she just picked up the cloth, moving slowly, and dropped it pointedly into the bowl. Sighing through flared nostrils she stood and sat on the edge of her bed, picking up her sword and began to sharpen it. It was already as sharp as she could get it but she had to do something other than look at Paris. The image of water dribbling down over his chest and stomach had made her mouth start to water and her hands were just itching to touch him. But she sensed he was not in a receptive mood as of yet. She made a mental note to get him in the sea at some point.

Paris wrung out the cloth himself and started cleaning the blood, sand and dust off his skin, occasionally hissing in pain or wincing as he moved his bruised ribs. He watched as Achilles concentrated so hard on her task. Over the past few minutes he had forgotten that she was a warrior more deadly than any of the others, possibly even more so than Hector.

But she could be so caring, so gentle, it was hard to imagine her as a ruthless, cold hearted killer. And yet that was what she did, what she chose to do. She wanted to fight in battles, kill men. He couldn't understand how one person could be two so very different things when the time called for it. One had to be false. No one could switch so dramatically from one personality to another. And, judging by her reputation, he guessed the Achilles he was seeing now to be the mask. She was turning on the sweetness and charm because she wanted something from him. What, he couldn't figure out. But once she had it she would most likely kill him. That was probably the only reason she had given him the sword back. She knew it would still never leave this tent. And she was so sure she could protect herself if he tried to kill her she didn't give a second thought to the fact that she had just armed him. Her arrogance astounded him and yet there was something about her that reminded him of his brother. So strong and confident. But associating Hector with this woman felt so wrong. To find something so similar in two completely different beings. It was infuriating in its confusion.

As Achilles sat there, minding her own business, she was increasingly aware of the man's changing mood. She could see in the corner of her eye how his body language changed, became tenser, and she could hear it in the way he gave an indignant sigh every now and again. He was thinking about things. And it was getting him angry. A glance his way caught him glaring at her and she braced herself from the onslaught she knew to be coming.

"I've known people like you my whole life," he said finally and she felt a stab of indignation. Couldn't he see how much more was in her as opposed to the mindless slaves that served Agamemnon?

"No you haven't." She stated simply, refusing to be baited by this boy.

He arched a brow and asked, "You think you're so different from a thousand others? Soldiers understand nothing but war." He smirked. "Peace confuses them."

Her brow wrinkled in the beginnings of a frown. "You hate these soldiers."

Paris met her gaze. "I pity them." He truly did. Because of the life they had chosen they would more than likely never know peace. They would spend the rest of their lives fighting in one war after another because they believed the winning of that war would bring about a better world. In truth, all it ever brought was another war and another. And if there was no war they were worried because they wouldn't know where the next on was coming from. For soldiers, including his brother, peace was a near impossibility.

Achilles briefly saw a flash of the beach the day before. The golden sand had been littered with the lifeless bodies of Trojan soldiers and blood had flowed in crimson rivers down the steps of the temple. All of those men had been cut down defending their home and their families. "Trojan soldiers died trying to protect you!" she said incredulously. "I think they deserve more than your pity, _your highness!_" He visibly flinched at the sound of his title being spat with such disdain and she felt pleasure at causing him offence. She had killed hundreds of men in her relatively short life but she at least respected the men she sent to the underworld. This foolish boy saw them as nothing but faceless, mindless nobodies. His association with Hector should have taught him better than that.

Feeling shame and guilt at his apparent lack of respect or understanding Paris lowered his eyes. He sighed and couldn't help the wave of homesickness. He had never wished for his family, his rooms, his life, more than he did at this moment. It was all he could do to keep from forgetting himself and weeping right in front of this woman.

She was still watching him and saw his sudden crash in spirit. Although it was instantly pushed aside and forgotten about, Achilles recognised a pang of regret at her blunt words. It was then her eyes fell on the gash on Paris' thigh and she cursed her forgetfulness. She placed her sword on the bed and moved to kneel by him. He looked at her warily and she held up her hands to show she meant no harm. "I should stitch that," she said reaching for the needle and thread Patroclus had fetched.

Paris made to argue but could already see she wouldn't listen. And it did need to be done. So to distract himself from the discomfort he tried to start a conversation, partly to give him something to think about other than the sting of the needle but mostly because… well, a femal warrior was almost unheard of. He wanted to know who she was. "Why did you choose this life?" he asked.

Frowning at her task in concentration she responded absently, "What life?" not noticing how her fingers caressed the inside of his knee soothingly when he jerked against a tug on the thread.

"This," he said through hitched breath. "To be a great warrior." He couldn't understand why such a beautiful woman hadn't found a man and allowed herself to feel content staying at home with a husband, raising a family and staying away from the violence and death that surrounded her constantly. Such an existence had to be cripplingly lonely, not knowing if your friends would be there for you from one day to the next.

She just shook her head. "I chose nothing," she said. "I was born and this is what I am. Not once did I see any other path to take." She didn't like this choice in conversation. It was bringing out too much of her and making her think too deeply on what she had done over the years. And those years had been incredibly unkind.

Paris couldn't accept that. "But you must enjoy it!" he replied, needed a better explanation than that. He was unable to see how such a life could just come upon you whether you willed it to or not. There had to be a stopping point along the way unless you didn't want to see it. In which case it had to be a conscious decision.

Again she shook her head. "Does the scorpion feel joy when he stings the beetle?" She raised her eyes from her hands and locked her piercing blue orbs on his searching brown ones. "I doubt it. I doubt he feels anything at all." Her face was moulded into a mask of neutrality and indifference, the face she had practiced ever since the first man fell on her blade.

He cocked his head to the side and said, "But you're not a scorpion. You're a woman." 'And a captivating one at that,' he continued in his mind, hypnotised by the stare he felt powerless to break free from.

"And you are part of a family in love with the gods!" she snapped harshly, breaking the spell she had unknowingly cast over him and snapping them both back to reality. She hadn't liked how he was making her feel and think. It was making her question this life too much and it was taking her to an exremely uncomfortable place in her mind. "Where was your god Apollo when those men tried to rape you!" He had been a part of one of the very experiences that had taught her the gods were worth nothing and, if they even existed, cared little for their children who were suffering so curelly here on the earth.

But she wanted to slit her own throat when she saw Paris reel back after what had been a near physical blow. His eyes closed and his mouth pulled tight into a thin line. His breathing hitched as he was cast back into memories of what he was endured and imaginings of what he had narrowly escaped.

She continued on with her stitching and noticed he barely even noticed the piercing of his flesh anymore. Wanting to try and make amends and possibly explain a little she said softly, "You and your family have dedicated your lives to the gods." He nodded, not opening him eyes. "Zeus, God of thunder. Athena, Goddess of wisdom. You serve them."

Paris dared a glance at her and saw an unnamable emotion in her eyes but he felt himself being imprisoned by it once again. He nodded once more. "Yes, of course," he said, wanting to know what she was driving at, feeling defensive of his beliefs despite her still captivating presence.

The corner of her mouth turned upward and she continued on teasingly, "And Aries, God of War, who blankets his bed with the skin of men he's killed? By despising war and warriors you are going against one of the very Gods your people seem to depend upon so much." Without conscious thought, Achilles found her fingertips resting on the inside of Paris' knee gradually travelling down, inch by inch, over his thigh. His gaze had never left hers but she could see clearly when he noticed her soft touch. His eyes widened slightly and then darkened considerably.

Then he faltered and broke from her stare, reaching forward for a handful of grapes on the silver platter before him and using that movement to take his leg away. His heart was hammering in his chest but he wasn't sure whether it was from fear or attraction. He chewed distractedly on the sweet fruit and made himself try to think clearly. There was no denying his desire for her but he knew he was in far greater danger than she would allow him to realise. "All the Gods are to be feared and respected," he said by way of a come-back. But he had lost this round.

Achilles tied off the end of the stitches and admired her work. She had never mastered this skill and the row of stitches was a little crooked but it would hold easily enough. Looking back at Paris she caught the defeated gleam to his wary eyes. "I'll tell you a secret," she said and let herself smile a little when he looked back at her again. One of her hands still rested lightly on his knee. "Something they don't teach you in your temples." She paused until she had his full attention. "The _Gods_ envy _us._" His gaze softened and she saw at least one of his defences come down. "They envy us because we are mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed." All pretense was gone now. She wasn't trying to prove a point or win an argument. She just spoke what was in her heart for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. "You will never be lovelier than you are now," she paused, "and we will never be here again."

Paris' heart gave a lurch at the blue fire of her eyes, ignited by her passion, and his breath hitched as her ferver caught him up more by the second. But then he remembered where he had seen that fire before. It had been just beneath the surface when she first entered the tent when he first saw her, it had been barely contained inside Agamomnon's tent when she was about to kill those guards, and again it had blazed hotly when she killed one of the men attacking him earlier that night. That was just enough of a reminder to pull him once again from her spell. He shook his head to clear it in what he hoped to appear a casual manner then said quietly, "I thought you were nothing a dumb wench." He popped another grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, speaking around it. "I could have forgiven a dumb wench."

She gave a beathy chuckle and they shared a soft smile. Seeing his request for space for what it was, she gracefully got to her feet and walked to the door, pulling back the flap and fixed her eyes upon the beautiful silver moon. It was almost reaching its highest point and was at its brightest. She inhaled the salty sea air and listened to its calming song for a few moments before stepping away and allowing the flimsey barrier fall back into place. She bent and picked up the tunic Patroclus had dropped off and passed it to Paris. "Put this on and try to get some rest." She walked to her trunk and lifted the lid, producing from the dark interior a plain polished wooden pot about the size of two cupped hands. She removed the lid and inhaled deeply. The ointment smelt sweet and soon filled the tent with its pleasant fragrance. "This will make the burns more comfortable. Before you put your tunic on lean forward and I will put it on your back." He looked at her dubiously but she just smirked. "You have my word that I wish to do nothing but ease your discomfort. Your virtue is perfectly safe," she teased and was rewarded with him shifting forward on the furs and dropping his eyes with a bashful smile.

Within far too few minutes Achilles had completed her task and felt a pang of regret at having to take her hands from his glorious, sun-kissed flesh. Her eyes had nearly rolled at the ecstasy of the feel of him. She had taken as long as she could working the ointment into his skin, rubbing and kneading the tense muscles down his back and into his shoulders, initially feeling him tense in resistance only to melt into her touch within moments. She loved his shoulders and had spent extra time on them, feeling herself begin to tremble and ache deep in her belly when his neck started lolling to and fro. His soft moan of pleasure nearly made her groan in echo and it was all she could do not to take him right there.

The small of his back where the flesh was sore and red took all her restraint. After discovering the deliciousness of his upper back she had to remind herself that learning the feel of this area would hurt if she was not careful; and care had never been one of her chief concerns. Until now. Yet somehow she managed it, soothing the tender burns with gentle caresses and even going so far as to work the ointment into his waist and ribs on either side.

When she was done she had to sit there a few moments and gather her breath and her control. By the end all she had been able to think about was the desire to wrap her arms round him and press her entire body against his back, not letting her hands be still until The sun had risen in the sky.

With that thought she decided it was essential she let go and leave him be. He wouldn't appreciate her molesting him and certainly wouldn't be in the mood for making it worth her trouble. 'Besides,' she thought with a smirk, 'he's not nearly fit enough to keep up with me yet.' So she sighed and stood, giving him the pot and instructing him to put it on any other part that burned. It would probably ease the pain in his bruised ribs and stomach as well.

The sight of soft hands sliding over slick flesh was almost her undoing. With grit teeth she turned her back and stripped off her leather garments, casting them aside absently, and slipping beneath the furs of her bed, turning so her head was facing away from the young man. The warm night meant she needed little to cover her and just pulled a small section over her hips and torso. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of Paris running his palms over his glistening skin, thinking with anticipation on what it would be like to experience those very palms gliding over her own body. Because she would have him. Even if she had to take him captive back to Larisa so he gave up hope of ever escaping back to Troy, she would have him.

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Hmm, I almost feel like she should be giving an evil cackle with that last thought. Not sure. Oh, and if at any point anyone thinks I should change the rating let me know and I'll do it asap. Cheers!


	18. Crossing the Line: M rated

Ok, I think I'm going to take a reviewer's advice and bump the rating up a little. But just for the last chapter and thing one. And possibly one I'm working on at the moment. But because that will probably be all the M ratings I'm going to use do I have to put the entire story as an M or can I just mark the individual chapters like I've done? Please let me know cos I don't want to break any rules or anything!

Anyhoo, sorry for the wait. A few things have been going on over the past couple of weeks that needed my undivided attention. My Kingdom of Heaven fic has been neglected as well and it's proving near impossible to get anything done on it now!Lol :) But here we are with the 18th chapter. Let me know what you think and I'll post no. 19 asap.

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Chapter 18

She awoke some hours later in darkness, the sound of movement having disturbed her from rest. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing even, feigning sleep. In the night she had rolled onto her side and had her back to the tent but she knew what she was hearing. Moments later her suspiscions were confirmed as her cot dipped beneath Paris' weight. She was unclear as to his intentions until she felt the cold, sharp press of a blade to her throat. Slowly she opened her eyes.

"Do it," she commanded. Turning only her head, she looked calmly up at the nervous, wide-eyed, slightly trembling man kneeling beside her, the Sword of Troy grasped in his fidgeting grasp. "Nothing is easier." She should know.

Paris' voice shook. "Aren't you afraid?" he asked. He had come to the decision that, desirable or not, she was deadly and held too much weight in this war. She was too dangerous to let live when the oportunity to kill her was so near.

Achilles' expression didn't even flicker. "Every mortal dies. Tonight or fifty years from now, what does it matter in the face of eternity?" She could see in his eyes he had never killed anyone before and she wanted to see if he really had the courage to take a life in cold blood. Something in the way he silently pleaded with her told her he wanted her to stop him. But she couldn't find the will.

His palms were sweating. "You'll kill more men if I don't kill you." He had seen the slaughter on the beach and what just this one woman had done to the Trojan ranks within minutes. He dreaded to think how many she would murder if let loose on a battle field.

"Many," she confirmed. "One will be your brother." If he was going to do it, it would be after that. She saw his brow furrow in anxiety over this statement but his hand stayed still. She grasped his arms just above the elbows and jerked him towards her, their faces mere inches apart and she felt the sharp sting of the blade just slightly cut her skin. "Do it!" she ordered again.

And he knew he should. He knew no one would blame him for taking this one chance, because he knew it would be all he was allowed. But her eyes were weakening his resolve once again. He remembered the gentle caress of her fingertips as they cared for him, the deep, sensual massage she had used on his back and shoulders. And he had come to realise there had been something about the way she had rescued him that night he hadn't been able to shake.

It would have hurt her to see him hurt. In Agamemnon's tent she had immediately leapt to his defence. She had gone out of her way to ensure his safety. She had even spent time and resources looking after his injuries when she could have just left him there.She cared about him. And suddenly the sight of her blood which was now smeared on his sword was something repulsive. With his mind's eye he saw her lying there covered in her own blood, saw them lighting her funeral pyre on the beach. His heart lurched for her once again and as Achilles raised her head to close the small gap between them his sword slid from lifeless fingers and landed with a soft thud on the sandy ground.

Achilles hadn't meant to kiss him then but found she couldn't hold back the pull toward him any longer. She had been fighting it since she first touched him and finally she allowed herself to let go of the tight hold she had on her body. When her lips met his and his hand moved to cup her face, the smooth fingers so gentle yet so knowing, she felt something inside her shift as she had never experienced before. Again his fingers demonstrated their knowledge as they slithered down her nude body and made her shiver. He was taking control of this kiss and eased her lips apart with his, breaching her mouth with his tongue and taking all she had to give. The intensity of his kisses was making her dizzy and before she knew what was happening she had wrapped her arms round his shoulders and was arching into his embrace, moaning with the pleasure he was giving her.

Then it struck her just what she was doing. She had never let a man take control of her like this. Being held beneath a man, allowing him to do with her as he chose was something she had fought against since… since she stopped thinking about the past. Since she stopped living in the world of a female.

Realising this she felt an almost forgotten wave of panic rise within her and fought Paris' control. She broke the kiss and placed her hands on his chest, trying to push him up off her, but as soon as his lips had parted from hers he slid his mouth down to the sensitive skin of her neck. He nipped the tender skin and she groaned. Once again she allowed herself a moment's suddender before fighting back for control, hooking her left leg over his hip and pushing up with her right, rolling them smoothly so she was sprawled on top of him. Her fingers weaved themselves into his hair and gripped hard, bringing his mouth back to hers and doing her own explorations. Her thighs were straddling his hips and she could already feel the pulsing evidence of his desire between them. It would be so easy to just slide the fabric up, raise herself onto her knees and…

But before she could even finish that thought Paris had flipped them again, pinning her beneath him and kneeling between her spread legs, his mouth never once leaving hers. The Prince was not about to be pushed around tonight. There was something about her that drove him absolutely wild and he would not be satisfied until he had given her every pleasure his impossibly imaginative mind could invent. And if there was one thing his reputation did not lie about, it was just how imaginative Paris' mind could be.

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I think that was another moment when I couldn't bring myself to stop writing. From what I remember of doing this one, my eyes neary rolled back at the gorgeous imagery!Lol.

Do I honestly have to ask you to review? Surely it's a given by now! (",)

Have a good one, sweets!


	19. Morning Light

Ok, I'm really tired and not really in the mood for messing about on the computer. Four reviews for my last update was really good so I decided to reward you all by posting the next two chapters. This first one was just going to go up by itself but I realised that it wasn't very long. So the next one (which is more than twice the length) is going up aswell. I only have one more backdated chapter writtenand I'm having real problems getting any more of this done but bear with me. I'll do my best.

As per usual, if you have any comments don't hesitate to leave a review. I thrive of feedback, positive or constructive criticism, whichever you're in the mood for.

So read, review and enjoy. Thanks for your time.

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Chapter 19

As soon as Achilles became aware of herself the next morning she froze. There was a dead weight across her and it was pinning her down. But as she shifted and felt the softness of Paris' skin she remembered and relaxed once again. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady, feigning sleep until she was ready to face the morning. After last night she wasn't sure she ever wished to leave her tent again. If she could keep the Trojan Prince here with her she would be quite content to never see the outside world from any further than the doorway.

Reluctantly opening her eyes, she turned her head to gaze into the sleeping man's face. He looked so peaceful, so innocent. She smirked at that last one. Thinking back over the night she had come to realise he was many things, but innocent was not one of them! Surprising herself, she brushed a stray curl from Paris' forehead in a gesture of uncharacteristic tenderness. Trailing her fingertips down from his temple, along his jaw to his lips, she felt a strange unnamed emotion well inside her that she not explain or define. But as she lay there looking at him she could not deny the warmth that filled her heart and made her lips turn up in a soft smile.

She sighed and held back from the urge to wake him as she had already done twice in the night. After all they had been through, he deserved a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. But, knowing staying here wrapped in and around his body would eventually mean she _had_ to wake him, she gently eased herself from his embrace and left the bed. But not before pressing a possessive kiss to his slightly parted lips and running her fingers through his silky hair. He stirred and moaned in his sleep but soon settled back into rest, showing her exactly how tired he really was. She hadn't been deliberately trying to wake him, but wasn't exactly trying _not_ to wake him either.

Containing a slight sigh of disappointment, she turned and let him be, pulling on a woven blue shirt and skirt, then settling in a chair not far from the bed and pouring herself a goblet of wine. She could waste hours like this, just sitting and staring at him. He was so increadibly beautiful, it took her breath away.

But her silent musings were interupted mere minutes later by the tent flap being pushed aside. Eudorus stuck his head in and made to speak, but Achilles put a finger to her lips before he could utter a word. Having Paris wake while she could indulge herself was one thing, having Paris awake while she had to behave herself was another all together. And the overwhelming affection she was feeling was bound to reveal itself if he gave that dimpled smile again. Eudorus looked over at the sleeping Paris and nodded in understanding and for a moment her transparent emotions annoyed her. Thankfully the man left before he could see her scowl at herself.

Achilles wondered how she would keep the respect of her men if she couldn't hide the growing tenderness she was feeling toward the Trojan Prince. She stood from her chair and went to sit on the edge of the bed. As she did Paris stirred and half-opened his eyes. He gave a groggy smile and made to sit up but before he got half way she had leant in and captured his lips possessively. Her tongue swept inside his mouth giving no space for thought, let alone argument. She used her body to push him back down and his arms instantly came up to wrap around her. She sighed and for a moment considered forgetting whatever Eudorus had wanted to speak with her about. But she knew he wouldn't have disturbed her unless it was important. So she reluctantly broke the kiss and resisted Paris' attempts to draw her back into their passion. He pouted adorably but she just shook her head and smiled.

"I will be back soon. Stay here and," she arched an eyebrow suggestively, "don't do anything." Paris laughed and let her go, putting his hands behind his head and bending his leg at the knee, letting the fur covers slide dangerously low on his hips. He watched smugly as she licked her lips and had to literally wrench her gaze from his body.

"Don't worry," he said pointedly, a half-smile curving his now red lips. "I won't start without you." Her slight blush was something he had never expected. She laughed and nodded, standing and walking from the tent without a backward glance. He didn't need to know how much she actually liked the idea of him 'starting without her.'

Paris watched her go and laughed to himself. He was astounded by the reactions he was giving to what had started out as the most terrifying experience of his life. So much had happened recently that this sudden happiness was unexpected to say the least. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. Nor was he sure how to respond to the lack of guilt he felt over what had happened between them. She was the enemy. And he already had Helen. He loved Helen. But were things the same anymore? Was he the same anymore? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. He knew for certain only one thing. That he wanted nothing more at that moment than to stay in this tent with the captivating female warrior who seemed to be equally captivated with him.

So, for the moment, he went along with the one thing he was sure about. He rolled onto his side and snuggled deep into the soft furs, closing his eyes and waiting for his beautiful companion to return.

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On to number 20. Or, feel free to leave a review here aswell if there's anything you want to say about this one. Gives me a happy when people are specific about things. See ya.


	20. Complications

Chapter 20

The moment she was out of sight of Paris Achilles felt a silly grin threaten to split her face. Seeing Odysseus sat there staring at her, also smiling that irritatingly knowing smile, she quickly pasted on her traditional mask of somewhere between indifference and impatience. Without taking her eyes from her friend, she said to Eudorus. "Have the men start loading the ship." She took a long swallow of her wine. "We're going home." She was speaking to both the Myrmidon and the king. And she knew that noth had heard her.

When she reached Odysseus she sat herself down on the rock beside him. He asked, "You found the boy, then?" Although the woman had perfected the layer of ice she always had between herself and the ones she dealt with, he knew her well enough to realise she would not hide her fury if the boy was taken from her again.

She nodded, giving away no emotion whatsoever. "I found him." Inwardly she was amused at finding she was even possessive when it came to speaking about him. She didn't want to share anything at all, even words.

"Is he hurt?" the man pressed, his curiosity making him fish for details but already knowing she would make him work for every word from her mouth.

At the memory of the beating she had given the soldiers last night, she allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk. "Not as badly as those who hurt him." There was a distance in her tone that said she was done talking about this now. Anything else that happened after that was strictly her affair.

Odysseus heard this and let it be. Nothing had happened to the boy and Achilles was taking care of him. That was all that needed to be said. But, by the sounds of things, she was planning on taking him home with her. He wondered if Paris had been informed of this minor detail and what he would have to say on the matter. But, if he knew Achilles at all, he knew that whether he agreed of not, Paris would be going to Larissa if Achilles wished it.

"Do you miss your wife, Odysseus?"

The question startled him. Not only had she never failed to divulge the goings on inside her tent if anyone expressed the vaguest interest, but she had never once asked him anything to do with his relationship with his wife. It had never aroused any interest in her. So the question, average as it would be to any other, was ground breaking coming from the great Achilles. "Always," he answered, not quite willing to believe what he was hearing. Surely she would tell him he was a fool.

Achilles smiled and shook her head thoughtfully. "I have never missed anyone in my life," she said. "I used to think it was a weakness," her voice lowered, almost as if she was afraid to speak the words aloud, "_needing_ someone else." That was the closest she had ever come to admitting a deep emotional attachment to anything besides her sword. And it left her feeling exposed. She did not enjoy the sensation.

But Odysseus was oblivious to this. "We all need someone else, Achilles." This was going to be an easier subject to bring up than he thought. "And right now, Greece needs you." He was watching her intently, sure of some resistance before the inevitable agreement.

She sighed, almost rolling her eyes. "Greece got along fine before I was born." She had had enough of fighting for a name, a title. In the light of this morning's sun, none of it seemed to matter anymore. "And Greece will be Greece long after I'm dead." She could already see how this war was going to end anyway. If the Trojans had any sense they would just repeat the performance of yesterday, gradually wearing down the Greek numbers until Agamemnon had no choice but to admit defeat. It could be finished in a matter of weeks. And she felt no desire to tip the scales in the King of Kings favour anymore.

"I'm not talking about the land. The valleys, the mountains - they don't care what we do. The _men_ need you. You should have seen the slaughter yesterday!" The sight of those men being cut down would haunt his dreams for months. Last night he woke up to the screams of agony in his ears and the taste of blood on his lips. And _he_ had led his men to that. If it wasn't for his forced loyalty to Agamemnn he would be sailing home on the next tide. He couldn't bear to sentence more of his men to death that way again.

She nodded. "I should have. Ajax fell yesterday. If a great warrior like him cannot defeat the Trojans what makes you think Agamemnon can! I saw enough to know he was the one to lead them to their deaths and that that man is not worthy of the title he so proudly bears!" She was openly sneering now. The contempt she felt for the leader went beyond what mortal words could express.

Odysseus was unprepared for such a vehement response. It momentarily threw him off balance. "Agamemnon…" he struggled for words, "_is_ a proud man," he admitted. "But he knows when he has made a mistake." But he had seen the cold determination in her eyes. It was the expression she gave when she only listened out of politeness, not really taking in anything he was saying. With a sinking heart he came to accept that she would not be swayed by his persuasive speech this time. Agamemnon had gone too far.

Achilles arched an unimpressed eyebrow. "The man sends you to make his appologies?" She wasn't at all surprised. "He doesn't understand honour, let alone _have _any." How has that man lived so long and got so far? Why has no one got tired of that old windbag and slit his throat already. The Gods knew the temptation made her fingers twitch every time she looked at his smug face. "What are you doing in thrall to that pig of a king?" She could not understand it. Odysseus had one hundred times the honour, wisdom and bravery of Agamemnon, yet he allowed himself to be ordered about like he was no better than a slave boy.

He tried to make his young friend understand. "This world seems simple to you, Achilles. But when you are a king very few choices are simple. Ithaca cannot afford an enemy like Agamemnon." As stong as his army was, it was no match for the King of Kings. Angering him was not on his list of priorities.

Achilles turned to look staright at him. "What, am I supposed to fear him, now?" What could that fat son of a whore do to her? Scowl?

"You don't fear anyone, that's your problem. Fear is useful." Fear stopped you going to far and endangering more than just your own life, but the lives of the ones you love. Fear told you what you could and couldn't get away with and when you were risking too much. Without it, you would see no reason not to bet everything you have. And Odysseus had too much to lose to start gambling now. "Stay, Achilles," he pleaded, one last time. "You were born for this war."

She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, staring out at the horizon where the blue of the sea met the blue of the sky. "My Life Is War," she said, over-pronouncing every word and punctuating each one with the barest inclination of her head. "Is that what you think?" She could almost say she was offended by this, until she realised that, up until today, she had nothing else going for her ever since she could remember.

"Am I wrong?" There really was something different about her this morning. Something in the boy had changed her… and he wasn't sure it was for the better.

With a sigh, she rested her head in her hand, still staring out to sea. "A week ago," she said, "you would have been right." She gave a breathy laugh. "Two _days_ ago, even." She shook her head. "But things are less simple today." She knew that by fighting the Trojans it would be a betrayal of what she had found in Paris. And doing that to him was unthinkable.

Odysseus smirked, Achilles' momentary lapse in concentration revealing her true feelings for once. "Lovers have a way of complicating things." He was back to teasing her again. The sheer adoration in her eyes when she was clearly thinking of Paris was so out of character it was comical. As was the mock warning stare she sent his way that told him he had said enough on this matter.

Smiling, Achilles decided she had been talking in circles long enough. Time to go back inside. She slung an arm round her friend's shoulders and his arm came round her waist in response. "Of all the kings of Greece, I respect you the most. But in this war you're a servant." She stared at him with her distain for Agamemnon showing clearly in her eyes. "And I refuse to be a servant any longer." She had been following his orders for long enough. It was time she made some of her own without that pig's influence.

He looked at her with brotherly affection, the look he would give when teaching a wayward child. "Sometimes you have to serve in order to lead." He slapped her on the back in the slightly too hard manor he would use on other men of the camp. The force of it made her lurch forward and he gave her another shove to get her to her feet. "I hope you understand that one day." He watched her walk away and returned the bright smile she shot at him over her shoulder. But he decided his time in the Myrmidon camp had come to an end when he saw the confrontational gleam in Patroclus' eyes as he made a move to intercept Achilles. Nodding his farewell to Eudorus who was still standing nearby, Odysseus walked across the sand toward his own camp, already filling his mind with preparations his men would need to make for the next battle that he felt certain would be just around the corner.

Achilles was not six paces from the entrance to her tent when Patroclus stopped her. "We're going home?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. After everything he had been taught he was expected to just run? Where was the honour in that?

But his cousin was not going to argue this time. He could see in her eyes she was in no mood for a fight. "We sail in the morning." She was tempted to tell him to go pack but she saw he wasn't about to back down. He wasn't speaking to his commander now. This was family.

He stared at her incredulously. "Greeks are being slaughtered," he reminded her. "We can't just sail away." Odysseus wasn't the only one to still hear the screams. He had hardly slept at all last night. Every time he closed his eyes he dreamt of soldiers crying out for his help but he could do nothing but stand there, watching, afraid to disobey his cousin's orders.

She was getting impatient now. "It is fighting you still long for," she said. "There will always be another war, that I promise you." She should know. Most of her life had been spent fighting in one war after another, each one supposedly the 'last war.' The very idea that fighting would bring peace was ludicrous. But it served her purpose she supposed. The more wars she won, the further her name spread. Briefly she wondered just how far her name really had spread. Maybe it was down in writing in some far away country. And, if that was so, hadn't she fought enough?

But Patroclus was not about to let the argument drop. "These are our countrymen! You would betray all of Greece just to see Agamemnon fall!" he shouted, drawing unnecessary attention.

"Someone has to lose," she growled sharply. "I gave you an order, cousin. We leave tomorrow." Her temper was now thoroughly lost and she strode angrily into her tent before she struck the boy she had come to love as a son. If she had stayed and watched Patroclus storm off she may have noticed that, instead of following her instructions and helping to load the ship, he ran straight to the ship and up the gangplank, purposefully heading toward her cabin; where her spare armour was still stored.

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Hope you liked it. Like I said, I'll do my best getting the next few written but my motivation is at an all time low at the moment. Just started a new job and all of a sudden finding the time is proving a bit of a problem. But I'm not going to give up. It just might take me a little longer than I anticipated.

Actually, it's already taken me longer than I anticipated. But never mind. I'll get there in the end. It's thanks to your encouragement that I've even got this far. So thanks.

Take care, you guys :)


	21. Unspoken

Heya guys. Thanks for you patience. God knows I would have run out by now. Well, like I've said before, I'm rapidly running out of backdated chapters and it's scaring the hell out of me.lol. But here we are with chapter 21. Sorry for such as long wait but I was really trying to concentrate on the next few chapters and forgot that I hadn't used this last one. So here I am rectifying the mistake.

Hope you enjoy.

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Chapter 21

She was angry. That was all Paris needed to know to stay out of her way. Upon seeing the furious flame burning in her blue eyes he instantly froze. He could see tense muscles straining, pulled tight all over her body and wondered how that power would choose to vent itself. Right now she was just pacing, clenching then releasing her fists and breathing heavily though flared nostrils. Her angry eyes were unseeing as they glared at the ground. But suddenly they darted up and fixed on him. A tremor of fear ran through him and he had to fight hard not to edge away. 'You wanted to be close to death,' that mocking voice of yesterday morning said, 'Well, there it is.'

Achilles saw the fear in his expression and felt a stab of… shame? She shook off the unnatural sensation but the sudden jolt out of her furious mental rant was all she needed to be brought back to reality, their reality. She forced herself to break off her stare and pace back and forth a few more times, trying to calm herself down before she took to her usual form of stress relief. Punching something. But, then again, why not?

Allowing her rage to resurface for a moment she caught the handle of a jug with her foot, flipping it up into the air. Just as it began its descent, she lashed out hard with her right fist, giving a cry of anger as her knuckles collided with the pottery, shattering the fragile jug to pieces. When the shards fell to the ground she knelt and picked one up. Turning it over and over in her hands she felt the jagged edge against her palm. She fought the urge to let it bite into her flesh and forced herself to drop the potential weapon.

Looking over her shoulder she locked eyes with Paris once again. Despite his fear of her she could still clearly see his concern. She sighed through flared nostrils and stood abruptly. He flinched but didn't drop his gaze. He was fighting within himself. Two sides of his personality were at war and it was fascinating to watch. The caring lover was struggling to keep his place against the spoilt and cowardly prince. She stood completely still while he battled, staring at him, captivated, unable to look away from what could possibly be a life-changing moment in the young man's life. In a way, she found his difficulty sadistically amusing and kept her face scowling.

After seconds that felt like hours Paris pulled himself together. He was not going to cower before this woman. He would trust himself and the as of yet unnamable relationship that was steadily growing between them. Balling his courage, Paris got to his feet and walked toward Achilles, bearly hesitating just before he reached her. He kept his gaze and hers locked together, refusing to back down before her penetrating eyes.

When he finally stood not inches from her he realised for the first time that he was almost half a head taller than her. It seemed strange that someone so respected in battle should be so much smaller than him. He had imagined her to be at around his height. But she had to tip her head back to look him in the eye, which she was doing now. He could feel her breath on his bare chest and it raised goosebumps on his flesh. But he didn't take his eyes away. He couldn't. He was as captivated as she.

Something was happening to her. Achilles couldn't define it but she didn't need to. It was scaring her all the same. She had watched his internal battle and had witnessed the outcome. He was beginning to realise his potential for inner strength now. As he steadily approached her he was for the first time in his life showing true bravery. He was demonstrating what it took to recognise his fear and continue on regardless of the consequences, but fearing them all the same. He knew she was angry, he knew she was dangrous and liable to lash out, but he walked toward her like one would a cornered animal snarling at him in deffiance. But something inside her was weakening to the new-found strength in those eyes. And she knew she would not be able to stay deffiant for long.

Paris lifted his hand and brushed a loose lock of golden hair back from her face, gently stroking the pads of his fingertips over her satiny skin as he did so. He kept his hand there, cupping her jaw and feeling her heart beat steadily under his fingers, and brought his other arm up, circling it round her waist and drawing her against him. He was almost surprised when she moved willingly into his embrace and ignored the slight discomfort the pressure caused his wounds. It was nothing compared to the feeling of such a powerful warrior softening within his grasp.

For the first time since she could remember Achilles didn't feel the reflexive instinct to fight back for control. Even during the night she had been constantly trying to get the upper hand, even if she had failed miserably every time. But now… now she was perfectly content to let him do what he would with her. There was something about him. Maybe it was just because she had taken all he had to give last night and knew there was nothing that she needed to fight against. Maybe it was because she knew he didn't have what it took to beat her in combat. Or maybe it was because she saw in his eyes that there was nothing in the world that could make him want to hurt her. Maybe it was because he had become the one person in all the world she knew she could trust completely.

Her men, her cousin even, they had all been trained well and she knew that they would elliminate her if they felt she threatened the rest of the men. She wouldn't even put it past an ambitious soldier to try and take her place as leader, doing whatever was necessary to get her out of his way. And she would have it no other way. In times of war, which, let's face it, was all these men were ever going to know, that ruthlessness was what it took for warriors such as these to survive.

But it wasn't like that here, in this tent, between these two people. There was just the intense feeling that, no matter what the outcome of the war, nothing could hurt them here and now.

The silence was heavy and both wanted to break it. But they feared to do so. The spell cast over them was so fragile that the wrong words would shatter it completely. And there were so few right words that they couldn't even form whole sentences with them. So neither tried. As if by unspoken agreement, they leaned in and closed what small distance there was between their lips, letting their unspoken words stay unspoken for a while longer.

Achilles wrapped her arms round his neck and weaved her fingers through his dark hair. Her entire body gave a deep shudder as the angry tension left her in a rush. Paris let his hands glide down her back, over her rear to where ass met thigh. He jerked her toward him and up off the ground and she wrapped her legs round his hips. He walked them back to the bed and smiled against her mouth when he felt her tugging impatiently at the covering he had casually slung round his hips not long after she left. When they were stretched out of the furs he set to work of her own clothing and they let themselves be lost to one another for the rest of the morning.

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Sorry not much happened. But it's a moment that I liked. A bit of a transition for both characters. I think it deserved a chapter all to itself.

Review if you liked, review if you have ideas on how I could improve etc. I'm working on the next few so at some point I should be happy with them. Again, sorry it's taken so long but a few other things had to take priority. (eg.my very nearly losing my job cos I was always writing at work.damit!lol)

See you soon. Take care ;)

xxxxx


	22. Improvements and Distractions

I cannot begin to describe how sorry I am for abandoning you all like that. But life got in the way, I'm afraid. A few things have happened over the last few months that just robbed me of all enthusiasm for writing. But I'm back now. Back and raring to go. This is just a short and sweet one for now but we'll get back into the real story in the next one. Enjoy:)

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Chapter 22

The night sky was clear, filled with stars that made the black surface of the sea glisten and sparkle even brighter. The moon shone radiantly, so bright that as Achilles stood at the entrance to her tent she fancied she could feel its warmth as it bathed her skin in its silver glow. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the salty sea air and exhaling with a contented smile.

Looking over her shoulder she felt her smile grow wider as she watched Paris. He was stood, his back partially to her, concentrating hard on the sword skills she had been teaching him that afternoon. The sword of Troy glinted in the lamplight as it was twirled slowly and rather clumsily around his hand.

Achilles had been pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn't as difficult a student as she had first imagined him to be. He knew the basics, although the lack of practice meant even that area was rather weak. And he was eager to know more. But she still couldn't understand why he had never been taught to defend himself. She could perfectly well understand why his father and older brother would want to protect him by keeping him as far away from battle as physically possible but surely at least training him to the point of competence if not expertise could only help to keep him safe. But she had to let go of her frustration, forcing herself to remember one pleasant consequence of his ignorance.

She got to be the one to educate him.

At first he had been reluctant to leave the tent. The last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by hostile Greek soldiers. But she had just smiled, told him they weren't nearly as bad as he imagined and tossed the sword of Troy to him. He glanced curiously over at the two wooden training swords leaning against her weapons trunk but she shook her head. "If we start with those you will learn well enough but thenyou would have to take the time to get used to the real thing once you have progressed. This way will be easier for you." He still looked doubtful so she smirked teasingly and grasped his wrist, leading him from the tent and into the sunlight. "When we can spar almost as hard as we would need to in battle we will switch to the training swords to prevent injury." She had begun Patroclus' training in much the same way and he had been just as uncertain. "But for now neither of us will be attacking the other," she lied. "Trust me." And for some strange reason, he _had_ trusted her.

Now, as she stood staring at him, she chuckled to herself, remembering the expression on his face as he turned to see her sword rapidly descending toward his head. It had been an interesting first few minutes. She had begun a mock fight to test him, to see just how much work she actually had ahead of her and where she would need to start. More than once she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking, "How did Menelaus not kill you with the first few swings of his sword?!" It wasn't that he was bad a fighting. She could see already he had the talent to go far. It was just that he honestly didn't know how to do it. He had never been taught. But that was a mistake she would rectify as soon as possible. And by the time the sun was beginning to set Achilles was confident she could do just that.

Paris' concentration was broken by her laughter behind him and he stopped his practice. He met her gaze over his shoulder and shrugged. "At least I have improved a little today," he said slightly defensively.

He had misunderstood. Achilles walked over to him and wrapped her arms possessively around his torso, sighing despite herself when he rested his own arm casually around her waist. "You did well today, Paris," she said encouragingly, planting a kiss on his shoulder. "I was only comparing how you are now to how you began earlier today. You should be proud of yourself." She broke their embrace and took his hand. "Walk with me," she requested and led him out into the camp.

They walked past the fire and Achilles nodded a greeting to her men who were sat in the orange glow of the flames, drinking and eating in comfortable silence. Soon they rounded the bend in the coastline as she shore curved its way round the cliff on which stood the now deserted temple of Apollo.

Paris stared up at the giant structure and felt his heart twist in pain at the memory of that day. It felt like years ago. So much had changed since then. With a frown he wondered of the bodies of the priests were still there, left to rot where they fell. 'And it's all my fault.' He cursed his stupidity and selfishness once again and dropped his eyes to the sand, kicking at it in frustration. The sound of the waves did nothing to calm his anxiety like it used to. Instead he found himself wishing he could just walk into the sea and keep walking. Just walk away from all this until the waves closed over his head and nothing hurt anymore.

Achilles was watching carefully and knew it would hurt him to think of the past. Because days, months or years ago, that's all it was. It was in the past and there was nothing to be gained from dwelling on things regretted. In a way, that was why it always hurt so much. Because it was hopeless.

Distraction was the best remedy for painful memories. Thinking of other things. With a smirk Achilles realised that the best form of distraction available was herself. 'Oh well. I suppose I could sacrifice myself for the cause,' she thought, raking her eyes over his body for the thousandth time that day. She smiled and walked toward the shore, reaching round to the tie at her hip and slipping the knot undone. She called over her shoulder, "Paris, come swim with me!" As soon as she had his attention she dropped the fabric and lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it to the sand next to her disgarded skirt. She only watched until she was sure he would follow her then ran confidently into the cool sea.


	23. Letting Go

Check me out! 2 chapters in a week. That's got to be a record or something. Well, I'm not going to yammer on for ages. I'm just going to say thanks for sticking with me and getting this far. Thanks for the reviews, the good and the not so good. They keep me trying to improve. So let me know what you think and I'll get another chapter typed up and ready to go ;)

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Chapter 23

Her tanned skin pebbled at the chill and she sighed as her muscles rebelled against the sudden cold. Behind her she heard Paris splashing as he walked through the surf to catch up with her. Fixing in her mind where he was she turned and swept her hand across the surface of the water, soaking Paris downt he front and making him shout in surprise.

He hadn't been prepared for the sudden water attack and within moments found himself laughing and retaliating, getting her equally wet and making her own laughter ring out. His grief and guilt was virtually forgotten in seconds and was replaced by wonder at the woman in front of him. He was astounded by this new side of her. He'd never seen it before and didn't know quite how he should react. But her sudden and uncharacteristic playfulness caught him up so quickly he didn't have time to think or question it before he was joining in her game. It had been so long since he had played like this it seemed like he had almost forgotten how.

Achilles saw the weight fall from his shoulders and allowed herself to become more... herself. He had needed to let go and, if she had been honest, so had she. But now he was loosened up a little she knew what kind of letting go she needed and was constantly reminded of the fact by the moonlight sparkling off Paris' wet skin as he fought back. Her mouth went dry and her gaze kept becoming fixated on his chest. She couldn't concentrate anymore. She had to do something to close this intollerable distance between them. It had to be all of three feet. Much too far for her liking.

By now they had wandered out into the sea far enough for the surface to reach their waists. Achilles waited for a large wave to reach them and ducked under the water. Opening her eyes she could barely see but she saw enough to know which direction to go in. The next thing Paris knew after his lover disappeared beneath the waves was a familiar feminine body brushing his back and two hands grasping his shoulders firmly. He had suspected this game to be nothing more than foreplay and was pleased to find his assumption was correct.

Lips brushed his neck as Achilles whispered, "Tonight is my last night here. We sail in the morning." She took a deep breath and just said what she was thinking. "I want you to come with me." Paris tensed and she felt her heart sink. She would hate to have to keep him as a prisoner but she already knew she was not going to let him go.

Paris closed his eyes and thought hard. It had sounded like a request but he had never expected her to actually ask him if he wanted to go with her. In truth, she hadn't asked him. And he had spent the last couple of days waiting to find out whether or not he was going to be taken from here. It looked as if he finally had his answer. But he wasn't certain. "Am I still your captive?" he asked. This captivity had not been as he had expected. The relative freedom was he deceiving and had made him forget that was was still in fact being held here against his will.

Achilles released his shoulders and walked round him, trailing her fingertips across his skin as she went, until she stood directly in front of him. She wrapped her arms round his neck and couldn't help smiling up at him. "You're my guest," she answered.

Paris smirked and arched a brow. "In Troy guests can leave whenever they want."

Against her will her arms instinctively tightened and she fought a scowl. "Strange custom." She fought herself to keep her tone light and changed her approaching scowl into a playful pout, not wanting to lose the slight banter that protected them from the serious conversation they were dancing around. But then she realised that now more than ever was the time for sincerity. There could be no misunderstandings here.

With a sigh she let her hands trail down his chest then she grasped both his wrists. She lifted them and looked intently at the soft, flawless palms, fascinated by the way they were completely without callouses or scars of any kind. "Your hands have never worked the fields, never chopped wood and rarely weild a weapon. These are the hands of royalty." She sounded saddened by this, like it was an obsticle they would have to overcome, and Paris felt a momentary stab of shame at this.

Then she turned her own hands over for his inspection. They were in every way different to his. "My hands are the gate to the underworld," she stated. To her eyes they still appeared red from the blood they were constantly soaked in. "All my life I have walked with death." She sighed. "But I grow tired of his company." In her mind she could still see the lifeless eyes of the first man she had ever killed. He had been threatening her mother. What would she say if she could see her daughter now? "Come with me to Larissa."

Paris almost smiled. She had never actually spoken of her home to him before. "Larissa." He tasted the name, experimented with the way it felt on his tongue. "Is that where you're from?" She nodded silently. "It's a pretty name." His tone was almost teasing and he saw the gravity in her eyes lessen a little.

Still with sadness in her eyes she said quietly, "I thought I would never see it again. Before I left my home my mother told me my fate." It almost pained her to think of it now. For once she cared if she lived or died. It mattered to her.

Paris' eyes widened. "She speaks with the gods?" he asked with slight wonder, his face the expression of a fascinated child.

With a secretive smile Achilles answered, "She knows things." And her unexplained talent had got her a rather unpleasant reputation in Larissa. This was one of the reasons Achilles was eager to return home. But that was unimportant now. "She told me if I stayed there I would have a long, peaceful life. But if I came to Troy, life would be short... but my name would never be forgotten."

"And you chose Troy." It was a statement. He wasn't surprised at her choice. After meeting her he had come to understand just how much her reputation meant to her.

Achilles had been thinking and for once was going to give her thoughts vocalisation. "But," she hesitated, realising the depth of feeling she was about to reveal. "But what if Fate brought me here for another purpose? What if I had to go to war to find peace?" Here was the real point of the matter. "To find you?"

Paris could barely dare to hope he was hearing correctly. Was she admitting that he meant something to her? And was she saying she wouldn't fight anymore if he went away with her? "Would you leave this war behind?" he asked sincerely. His hands rested lightly on her hips, thumbs gently caressing the smooth skin.

"Would you leave Troy?" She stared up at him, all playfullness completely forgotten now, this conversation a million miles from the splash fight they had been having mere mnutes ago. Her soul was as bare as it had ever been at that moment. He could destroy her in a second if he so chose.

He thought deeply, knowing she wanted an answer this time. Could he leave everything he had ever known to follow a dangerous warrior woman he had only known a few days? His brother's face flashed before his eyes, that that of his father, his cousin, then finally his beautifull Helen. And he had his answer.

He leaned in so their lips were almost touching. He stared deep into her blue eyes, afraid of what he was about to say. He didn't want to hurt her but... "I would." But Helen couldn't be a part of his life anymore.

He closed th distance and wrapped his arms round her waist, pulling her in tight, knowing nothing in his life was worth losing this woman and the strange passion they shared.


	24. Nothing's Changed

Disgustingly short, I know. Don't kill me for it though cos I'm following it up with a long one asap. I'm having to type it out all over again and it's taking ages cos I have the attention span of a wasted flea nowadays.

So, read and review. You will be hearing from me very soon.

* * *

Chapter 24

They stayed away from the camp fro the rest of the night. They talked as they wandered along the shore, swam in the sea, made love in the surf.

About an hour before dawn they heard the sound of hundreds of men shouting from the direction of the Greek camp. Achilles and Paris turned and stared intently into the distance, alarmed by the glowing orange they could see that told them what the shouting was about.

Fire. A huge one. And both knew without question how it had started.

The Trojans were attacking.

For a moment the lovers just stood there stunned. Neither could believe what they were seeing. And yet it was true. The Trojans, outnumbered as they were, had left the sure safety of their beautiful city to attack the Greek ships.

How could they be so stupid?!

Achilles' first impulse was to race back to the camp immediately and she reflexively jumped to her feet, her blue eyes wide and wild with something similar to outrage. How dare they attack like this! She irrationally felt that they should have waited until she and her men had left before continuing with their war.

But they didn't know she was leaving. Why should they wait? She had not declared war on the Trojans. As she had told Odysseus weeks ago, they had never harmed her. This was not her war.

So with an angry exhale through flared nostrils Achilles brushed the sand off her bronzed skin and made her way deffiantly to the waves.

They thought they could ruin her night, but they were mistaken. There was nothing they could do to hurt her anymore.

Paris stared at the glowing skyline and couldn't help wanting to run to it. The Trojan army was attacking which meant his brother was there. Just knowing going back to the camp might mean going home sent a wave of homesickness through him. Hours ago he had been so ready to pack up and leave these shores with little more than a backward glance. But now, knowing possible escape was so near, he wasn't sure he was strong enough to actually go through with it.

He watched Achilles stride toward the sea, her nude form caressed gently by the warm morning breeze and wondered if she would even let him go if he wanted to. Something possessive in her eyes and in her touch said she wouldn't even consider it. He had always known that but felt the need to go over that fact once more in his mind.

Nothing had changed. He still had no desire to return to his old, pampered life. His old home, yes, but only for the familiarity ot offered. Soon enough wherever they stayed once they had left Trojan shores would hold the same appeal and Troy would have little to offer him anymore.

So it was with a resigned sigh that Paris finally accepted his decision and finalised his choice to leave with her wherever she went. He stood from the sand, cast one last, almost regretful glance at his only hope of escape, and turned his back on it for good, walking toward Achilles where she stood motionless in the surf, waiting for him to join her.


	25. Responsibility

Chapter 25

The morning haze had just begun to be burnt away by the rising sun when the lovers walked back into the camp. The sight that greeted them was confusing, unwelcome, and did not bode well for the rest of their stay on the Trojan shores.

Achilles' men were shuffling dejectedly, sweaty and dirty, covered in dust and blood. They dropped shields and spears to the ground and began stripping off their armour. Their freshly bloodied armour. She looked around the camp and saw no damage. It had not been defence. They had attacked with the rest of the Greeks.

The look of fear and guilt on Eudorus' face was what claimed most of Achilles' attention. She had never seen him give that look before and it made her gut twist almost painfully. "You have been fighting," she said almost conversationally, adding with an edge to her voice, "You violated my command," making it clear that she was _not_ pleased. She had never known him to disobey a direct order before and it angered her. And it hurt her. Had she lost so much of his respect that he would deliberately go against her?

"No, my lady. There was a mistake..." He seemed almost desperate, and so he should have been. She was furious.

"A mistake? What kind of mistake could you possibly have had room for? I gave a direct order for the Myrmidons to stand down. You led them into combat." She stalked toward him, fighting to keep control of her temper. He had served her faultlessly up until now and she felt she ought to at least try and remember that. But it was difficult when he seemed so afraid. The warrior in her was telling her to go for the kill.

Eudorus dropped to his knees. "I didn't lead them, my lady." He couldn't bring himself to say the words. They would destroy her.

That almost made it worse! He would take another as Commander in her absense? "Who did?" She did not appreciate being forced to ask.

The man couldn't meet her eyes. "We thought you did."

There was more wrong with this situation that she had originally realised. The guilt and fear in the faces of all her men... it ran too deep. This was more than just disobeying an order. This was far, far more. ... And someone was missing.

Almost uncomfortable panic lanced through her. "Where is Patroclus?" she growled, searching the faces of those around her but finding too much of an answer when none of the men would meet her troubled gaze. No... this could not mean what her heart was telling her. She would not allow it to be true!

"We thought he was you, my lady," Eudorus said, his voice trembling, still unable to look her in the face. "He wore your armour, your grieves, your helmet. He even _moved_ like you."

Achilles saw red. "Where is he?!" Her fist lashed out and slammed into the captain's face. He fell to the sand hard, not even attempting to defend himself. "Where?!" she demanded when he said nothing.

With eyes filled with mortal fear Eudorus could only state, "He is dead, my lady. Hector cut his throat."

"_Liar!_" Achilles screamed, suddenly snatching up his disgarded sword and drawing it back. She could barely see through the haze of grief and rage but she could moke out the man's figure well enough to know where to aim. But a strong hand caught her wrist and a voice that sounded strangely far away was telling her no. Without thinking she struck that person with her left fist but came to her senses just enough to see Paris hit the ground. She wanted to feel bad. She really did want to feel bad for hurting him. But she couldn't. She couldn't feel anything beyond blinding pain.

She let her head fall back and she stared up at the hazy sky. "Dead?" she asked the sun. When all she heard was the crashing of the waves she had her answer.

Achilles walked unsteadily to the burnt out campfire and grabbed handfulls of soot in trembling fingers. Closing her eyes she smeared the blackness over her face and hair, letting the rest fall where it would. Snatching the sword back up she staggered toward the sea until she was waist deep and began ruthlessly attacking the waves, slashing and stabbing at the surf as it crashed all around her. With every swing of her sword she let out a cry of fury, ignoring the sting as the splashing water made the soot run into her eyes. It was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. That throbbing ache that would only be eased by one thing. Revenge.

Paris watched from where he now stood. He let the blood from his split lip flow unheeded and let himself forget the brief pang of betrayal he was felt when she hit him. It wasn't really him she was mad at. Nor did she blame the Myrmidon captain that still hadn't stood from the ground where his commander had put him moments before. No, he felt he knew her character well enough to recognise the true anger and blame was directed at herself. She had spoken of Patroclus often enough for Paris to realise she felt responsible for the boy. She had once said to him she wished she had never allowed her cousin to accompany her. His eagerness to fight was commendable but dangerous. She had said she should have recognised him as a liability and left him in Laryssa with her mother.

And now it looked like she was right. She _should_ have left him at home. And Achilles would forever feel responsible for that.

He wanted to go to her. He wanted to try and make it better but he knew that was impossible. All he could do for her now was wait. So with a sigh Paris accepted there was nothing more he could do and turned his back on her, leaving her to her grief. He wanted to tell the rest of the men to do the same, to leave her in peace for a while, but it wasn't his place. He locked eyes with Eudorus, who was now watching him. "Do you not think she would appreciate some time alone?" he suggested, hoping the older man would take the initiative. He was rewarded by the captain standing and beginning to give orders again, giving the camp some sense of order after the utter devastation it had just suffered.

Attention effectively directed away from their grieving leader, Paris felt able to walk away. He disappeared inside the tent and collapsed onto the bed. Only there, away from any observing Greeks, did he truly allow himself to react to all that had just happened right in front of him. With his head in his hands, his eyes squeezed closed, Paris gave a shuddering breath and let himself cry.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26:

Paris pulled back the tent flap and stared out toward the sea. Or, more to the point, toward Achilles. She had long since abandoned her futile battle with the sea and now just knelt in the surf, letting the waves crash around her, her sword held listlessly in her hands. All the soot had been washed from her skin and left her appearing remarkably pale as she stared, unseeing, toward the horizon.

To his right Paris saw a group of Myrmidons walking toward the camp, two carrying a body wrapped in dark blue cloth between them. They placed the body in the centre of the camp and as they stepped away the wind blew back the cloth, revealing the face Paris had seen more than once alive and well walking aruond the camp. Patroclus. And even from where he stood Paris could clearly see the ugly gash in his throat where his brother had cut him down.

He knew Hector better than most and knew he would not have fought if he had known who he had been battling against. The grief and guilt would be eating away at him still. But that didn't stop the pang of blame and accusation he aimed at his brother when he looked upon Patroclus' white face.

Bef ore he even made the decision to move from the tent Paris found himself walking toward the body. He was vaguely aware of a few observing Myrmidons but didn't let them distract him. Swallowing his revulsion at being so close to a corpse, something he had never done in his whole life, Paris took a moment of solemn silence to think over everything that had happened. He offered up a silent prayer to the gods for them to watch over the boy, to grant him the peace in the next life he had been unable to find in this one. He then reached out a trembling hand and closed the boy's still half-opened eyes.

He blinked back tears and rose to his feet, heartsick but determined. He walked toward the surf, his eyes trained on the fallen warrior. When he reached her he said her name softly, hoping to draw her attention away from the dark thoughts spinning through her head. She gave no response for long moments and Paris was about to repeat her name when she blinked heavily and slowly turned her head toward him. Meeting her eyes was like looking into his own grave. There was nothing there, not a spark, shimmer or gleam; there was just death. And it was frightening. He stood there motionless, just staring into her eyes trying to see something other than the desolate misery that appeared to be consuming her.

When he became certain there was nothing more to see he could not stay silent. "They have brought the boy back to the camp. I thought..." he trailed off, not sure if she would want him to say more. But when she made no move to stop him he continued. "I thought you would wish to begin preparations for his funeral. It may help ease the pain of his loss."

She blinked again, feeling like she was a million miles from the voice she was hearing. Who was he to say what would ease her pain? He had never suffered the death of someone close to him. Only solitude would help and his presence, even his silent presence, was ruining any chance of that. She wanted to tell him to go away, to leave her in peace and not bother her any more. But something in his eyes stopped her.

This wasn't respect he was showing. He wasn't here because he needed a leader to take charge. He was merely here because he was concerned for her. If she wanted to stay where she was he would let her. He wasn't trying to tell her what he felt she 'should' be doing, only what he thought she might 'want' to do. There was a dramatic difference and the compassion it displayed touched something deep inside her, something no one had touched in a long, long time.

With this realisation she found she did in fact want to prepare to send Patroclus on his way across the Styx. It was the least she could do for allowing him to come to harm here when it should have been her to face the Trojan Prince that morning. The picture of her baby cousin being ruthlessly cut down by such a strong, skilled warrior assaulted her yet again only this time, being faced with Paris' deep, soulfull brown eyes, she felt her own eyes start to burn with the first tears she had shed in the gods only knew how long. Two plump drops dribbled down her cheeks before she could stop them and before she knew what was happening she was having to swallow a lump in her throat and bite her bottom lip to stop its quivering. She broke from his gaze and fixed her eyes on the horizon, hiding her emotion from him and silently telling him to leave her alone.

He knew he was taking his life in his hands but he hesitantly approached her, ignoring her subtle dismissal. Dropping to his knees by her side he gently placed his left arm round her shoulders, ready to spring back if she lashed out, but she surprised him. She raised her right hand and tenderly grasped his left, lacing her fingers with his as she gazed steadily across the sea with eyes that were oh-so sad.

Achilles blinked heavily and two more tears fell. Turning her head she looked at him again, his face so much closer this time. From this close she could clearly see the split swelling of his lip and immediately felt a pang of guilt. With her left hand she reached out ad cupped his face, brushing her thumb over the small wound regretfully. Yet another mistake. Another way she had hurt someone that meant so much to her. But at least this was something she could make up for.

"I am sorry, Paris," she said quietly, uttering the words no mortal but her mother had ever heard her speak. "I should not have struck you." She registered mild astonishment on his face and at any other time would have smiled at it. "Forgive me."

Grasping her left hand with is right he placed a kiss on her palm. "I never blamed you."

Without thinking she leaned in a pressed her mouth to his. Paris went to pull back but she put her hand on the back of his neck, holding him close and shivering when he returned the kiss passionately, instantly sparking the hunger between them that could only end one way.

She reluctantly broke the kiss and got shakily to her feet, taking hold of Paris' tunic and gently encouraging him to follow her. When he stood he wrapped an arm round her waist and caressed the soft skin of her hip as they walked toward her tent.

A warning went off in the back of her mind that told her not to show such weakness in front of the men but she no longer cared. She was hurting, her heart bruised and aching, and nothing she could do would conceal the fact. She needed this, of only for a little while, because if today had proved one thing to her it was this.

As much as she wanted Paris, she could not keep him.

* * *

I would apologise for my 6 month disappearing act but what good will it do?lol. Thanks of you've stuck with me for this long. Goodness knows I would be more than ticked off by now. Real life kind of robbed me of all desire to do anything but mope. As much as I hate to admit it I honestly didn't care if I ever finished this story or not. I'd love to know what changed my mind but I haven't a clue. So here we are, with two new chapters and more on the way. I can't say when I'll have the next one up but I've got pretty much unlimited computer access till Tuesday so if all goes well...

Anyway, hope you're still enjoying it. Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed. Let's me know I'm not talking to myself. :) Take care and I will speak to you very soon.


	27. Goodbye

Chapter 27:

Her men hadn't needed to be told. When she and Paris eventually exited her tent the sun was hanging low in the sky and Patroclus' funeral pyre was already being constructed. They hadn't moved him from where he rested on the sand and her heart constricted painfully at the sight. "Go back inside," she instructed and was grateful that he did as he was asked without question. She needed to be alone for this.

Walking to her cousin's still form she knelt by his side and ran an affectionate hand over his cold face. How could Hector have done this? Surely he didn't think so little of her to confuse a teenage boy with the seasoned warrior woman?

The only explanation she could accept was that this was Hector's idea of revenge. She took his brother so he took ehr cousin. A ruthless and dishonorable thing to do. Nothing like the noble and brave prince she had thought him to be but it was the only reason she could understand. Did he think she had killed Paris? Or was hurting him?

It didn't matter. It had the desired effect either way. She was going to come for him and she was going to kill him.

After that the war would be essentially over and she could go home. Go home and tell her mother how she had failed in protecting the most important person in her life. Patroclus had been her responsibility and she had let him down in the worst way.

She should have been there. If she had been there she would have seen them fight and could have got there to stop Hector cutting the boy down.

Her eyes fell on the deep gash in his throat and felt her hands begin to shake with rage. Tears blurred her vision again but this time she ignored them, allowed them to be overtaken by anger. She welcomed the release from the misery and let fury take hold, swamping her grief. This she could handle. This she understood.

Looping his arm round her shoulders she lifted Patroclus' body and carried him away from the camp, out of sight of all prying eyes so she could begin preparing him for his final journey and preparing herself for their final goodbye.

* * *

It seemed as though almost every Greek in the camp had gathered around the huge wooden structure to honour the youngest soldier in their army. The circular area had been cleared and a huge wooden frame had been constructed, taller than any other they had built since arriving. Even taller than those of their fallen kings. On top of the structure lay Patroclus, clothed in white, his face peaceful. A necklace of seashells hung around his neck, across the scarf that concealed the deathblow delivered that morning.

Achilles' heart was breaking. The hand that grasped the torch shook with supressed emotion but her back was straight and her expression composed. She was aware of the eyes that were watching her and she wondered briefly what they saw. Did they see her pain, her grief, her sadness? Or did they see her anger, her determination, her resolve to repay this act of cruelty? She did not know, she did not care. Both were true.

She ascended the ladder steadily, not wanting to reach the top and see his face, but it seemed mere moments later she was looking down on him. Tears instantly obscured her vision and she was grateful the distance prevented others from seeing the torment in her eyes.

Reaching out a hand she placed two coins on his eyes, still not quite able to believe it was she having to do this for him. Ever since he had been sent to her to live when his parents died she knew he would be the one to light her pyre. Though now it appeared she could never have been more wrong.

The fingers that held the coins then stroked his hair like she had done years before when he used to fall asleep with his head in her lap. The tears spilled free and she could bear it no longer. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his brow then slipped her mother's necklace from around his throat, wrapping the chain around her hand securely. "I will se you again," she whispered finally before dropping the torch to the wood and letting it burn.

When her sandaled feet touched the wooden path that led from the pyre she wanted to scream to the gods at the injustice of the world. If it was the fates' decision to make her suffer for all the wrong she had done, all the lives she had taken, why punish her by hurting her family? Where was the justice in that? "Why was it not me?!" she wanted to scream at the very stars themselves. "Why hurt an inocent? He was just a boy!" In all her years, of all the people she had lost or killed, she had never known a pain such as this. How could this do anything to make up for what she was?

It was only when she felt a light touch to the small of her back that she realised she had been stood staring up at the flame for so long most of the soldiers had dispersed. Only Paris and her Myrmidons remained watching the pyre burn.

Turning to look at them all she nodded gravely, silently telling them to leave whenever they saw fit. One or two turned and walked slowly back to the camp butmost stayed, partly to show respect to the dead boy but also to keep watch over their leader. Appreciate the gesture as she did, at that moment she craved solitude, a chance to grieve in private. But appearances had to be maintained for the moment. She would have her chance soon enough.

A few men had left before the pyre began to collapse, the first heavy beams of wood making her flinch as they fell. The fire seemed to burn all the brighter after that and it wasn't much longer before she was stood before nothing more than a burning, smoking heap. But still she could not leave. If she left she would have to walk back to the camp to see her cousin had still not returned. She could not bear the thought that the last words they had spoken in this world were words of anger. He had died feeling angry and betrayed by her.

As she stared into the flames she lost herself to her memories, letting her mind drift back to when Patroclus had been small and she had visited her aunt and uncle to see him. She used to play with him and care for him like she would her own brother, if she had one. And when his parents died and he had come to live with her she had begun to care for him like a son too. And now he was gone. Dead and burned because of her. Though the guilt was less difficult to bear because she knew she shared it with another.

Hector would pay for taking away the only one she had ever cared for more than herself. She would have gladly taken Patroclus' death a thousand times over to spare him any harm. And the prince had slaughtered him without a thought because he felt he had avenged his brother. Well, she would show him how mistaked he had been. In the morning she would show him.

So lost in thought was she that she didn't notice the rest of the men retire, nor did she pay any attention to Paris when he sat on the sand dune stretching round to her right. She did not come back to herself until the first few rays of the morning sun lightened the distant horizon. Upon seeing the coming day she broke from her rigid stance and turned toward where the sky changed from black to a beautiful golden hue.

A soft snore behind her drew her attention to the young prince who was lying asleep on the sand. At that moment he was so beautiful to her it almost hurt her to look at him. This would be her last morning with him. And, as they would be watching no more sunrises together, the distance separating them was intollerable. She wanted him again.

Achilles walked toward him so she stood straddling his legs then dropped down to sit on his thighs. He came awake to her kissing him hungrily and broke the contact within moments, opening his mouth to speak. She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Shh. Say nothing." She didn't want to hear anything that would make this stop. "Just touch me."

* * *

Wahoo! Three updates in as many days! You can tell I a)am in an impossibly good mood, and b)have waaay too much time on my hands. I should be walking the dog, vaccuming the living room and mopping the kitchen and dining room floor but... shrug who cares?lol

You know the drill. R+R and maybe I'll post the next installment tomorrow :) See yah later, dudes!


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28:

Achilles knew it was time when what remained of the pyre stopped smoking. She had delayed the moment as long as she could. Her anger and grief would wait no longer. Patroclus would not be betrayed by her again.

Without saying a word Achilles stood and righted her clothes, unable to look Paris in the eye as she began preparing herself for what she was about to do. Her cousin's face flashed through her mind and with it came the pain she had endured since hearing of his death. Her fury was fuelled further when her eyes fell on the pile of ash and dust that had been flaming an hour ago.

Hector did this. Hector destroyed her family and killed an innocent boy, a boy she had loved as both a brother and son. Hector would not live to see the sunset.

She spared Paris nothing more than a final parting glance then walked away, striding over the sand until she reached the camp. Eudorus was sat outside her tent, had been awaiting her return but had since surrendered to slumber. He awoke with her approach and made to apologise but she interrupted him, caring for nothing but avenging her cousin. "I need my armour."

Paris had felt cold dread in the pit of his stomach when she walked away from him. There was something in her posture, in her purposeful gait that said whatever closeness they had shared was over. With something akin to grief he recognised that as of this morning their relationship was going to be forever changed.

Achilles disappeared from sight but he didn't follow. He didn't want to face the reality he knew he would be confronted with if he went back to the camp. She he stayed put, unable to bring himself to move.

His heart grew heavy as he sat there and replayed the previous night on the beach. They had been happy together, playing and laughing, like there was no Greece, no Troy, no war. Just them. And it had been wonderful.

But Patroclus' death had shattered everything.

Paris wondered if it would have been the same if it had been any other soldier to kill her cousin. If it had not been Hector would she have been cut so deeply?

That first morning of his captivity Achilles had spoken of meeting Hector, of speaking to him but refusing to fight him. Maybe now she was wishing she had taken her chance. Maybe she was blaming herself for the boy's fate. Maybe she should.

It was the sight of Achilles' chariot being prepared that prompted him to leave his place in the sand. He knew only one place she could be going and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. As he walked back into the camp he saw Achilles walking from her tent in full armour, the bronze polished so it shone brightly in the early morning sunlight. Panic struck him.

"Don't go!" he shouted and ran forward to stand close to the chariot, almost blocking its path. Her blue eyes snapped to his and he almost recoiled. Those were the eyes of a stranger, eyes full of hate and anger. He had never looked into those eyes before. Their cold fire sapped all the warmth and hope from his heart but he found himself pleading with her anyway. "Hector is a good man. He did not mean to kill Patroclus, I promise you that." His eyes begged and his heart broke. "Take me to Larissa with you. But don't fight him. Please, don't fight him." To his shame tears filled his eyes when he saw not a flicker of compassion. It was like talking to a marble statue. "We could have a life together. You and me. But not if you choose this path." He dared place his shaking hand over hers, the steel of it beneath his fingers nothing like the gentle touches she had given him at dawn. "You can walk away from war. _We_ can walk away."

Agonisingly long moments passed while she let his words sink in. "Rope!" she demanded and Eudorus passed her a coiled length of braided leather. She fisted her hand in Paris' tunic and jerked him forward. Grabbing both his wrists she tied them to the chariot, holding him easily in place when he tried to pull away.

Her jaw was set and her eyes were like stone. Determination came off her in waves and as Paris was awkwardly pulled to stand behind her on her chariot he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. His eyes closed and his head dropped forward, unable to believe it was going to end this way. "Don't do this," he whispered but she didn't even acknowledge his presence. Her thoughts were miles away.

* * *

Hector squinted in the brightness of the day at the approaching chariot. He could see the warrior's armour clinting in the sunlight and felt a cold fist clench round his heart. Behind him the archers prepared to shoot her down but he couldn't allow that. She deserved this moment of revenge. The gods knew he would want it. 

There was something about this day, some strange feel to the air that said he was approaching his end. And when Achilles stepped down from her charriot and began shouting his name he knew he was living his final minutes.

He took as long as he could justify saying his goodbyes to his family, only wishing his brother was here. There were things he had wanted to say to the young prince, soon to be heir to the throne. But when he could no longer bear to hesitate at the edge of the precipice he knew the time had come. He could not meet the eyes of the soldier that handed him his shield and spear. The younger man did not need to see the fear he felt. That was for himself alone.

Standing before the gated he relished the final moments he could spend within his home and against his will Andromache's face flashed into his mind. He heard her cries as she watched him fall, saw her weeping at his funeral and for a moment his courage failed him. Could he do that do her, to their son? Was honour really worth dying for?

He felt a presence behind him and turned. Helen stood there, silent and solemn. No words were spoken, none were needed. Her eyes spoke of sorrow and regret, his of duty and acceptance. This could not be about honour, not to him. He had already decided in his heart that Achilles deserved revenge for what he had done so it had to be about more than that. This had to be about defending his country and taking his final chance to kill the soldier potentially capable of defeating them all if she fought in this war. Anything else and his heart wouldn't be in it, and without his heart he had no hope of ever seeing his family again. So, without taking his eyes from Helen's face, he gave the signal to open the gate, gave the princess of Troy a respectful bow of farewell, and turned to meet his fate, whatever that may be.

* * *

Hmm, I'm not too sure I'm happy with that last paragraph. Seems a little muddled and strained to me, but I did my best.

Sorry there isn't much in the way of plote movement. I'll get there eventually... lol.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29:

Achilles just stood there, waiting. The futile struggles of the boy behind her were nothing but white noise, easily dismissed. Her entire focus was on the gates of Troy that were slowly, almost painfully swinging open. It was like they couldn't bear to let their prince go. Something about that thought almost made her smile. Who would have thought the brave Hector would fight his final battle with a woman? It would be comical if it wasn't so grave.

When the Trojan prince stepped out from the city he thought his eyes were deceiving him. "Paris?" he said almost to himself. But then the younger man looked up and he knew it was true. "Paris!" He strode forward. "Let him go. Your quarrel is with me and me alone. So release him." His eyes spat fire. He could clearly see the healing wounds on his brother's flesh and he felt the rage begin to swell inside. "So, you seek to repay me? To take from me what I took from you? What honour is there in slaughtering a boy?"

"You should have thought of that when you cut down my cousin! He was seventeen; he had never even fought a genuine enemy before that moening!" she yelled back before reigning in her temper.

Hector ignored the thousandth stab of guilt. "I thought it was you I fought yesterday. And I with it had been you. ButI gave the dead boy the honour he deserved..."

"You gave him the honour of your sword," she spat. "You won't have eyes tonight. You won't have ears or a tongue. You will wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb and all the dead will know: This is Hector, the fool who thought he'd killed Achilles." She turned and marched to her chariot, jerking the rope free and dragging Paris forward. She drew her sword and twirled it in her hand.

Paris' heart was racing. Panicked tears welled up as he awaited the cold slice of bronze into his flesh. How had this all gone so wrong? Thirty-six hours ago everything had been so perfect, so clear. They had been ready to give up everything for each other and now she had reduced him to nothing better than revenge? It could not be so. His heart refused to believe it to be so. But the look of utter terror in his brother's usually carefully controlled expression told him the truth of the matter. Everything they had dreamed and wished to have together was dead. As was he.

"Let him go!" Hector roared when he saw her start to raise the blade. If he had to watch her execute Paris he knew he would go mad.

The bronze glinted in the sun as she brought her sword down in one clean movement, cutting Paris' bonds. "What do you think I brought him for, moral support?" She gave him a harsh shove forward and watched him stumble to his knees with cold, detached eyes.

"What?" Paris asked and turned back to her in astonishment. "You are releasing me?"

She met his gaze like she had never seen him before. "You have served your purpose. I have little ned for you now and killing you would achieve nothing more than dirtying my sword. Go home. I am done with you." She waved a dismissive hand and turned her face away.

"Paris, get inside," Hector ordered, his sword drawn, prepared for any kind of treachery. This seemed too easy.

But Paris shook his head. "No." He couldn't abandon them to this. "Achilles, please. Remember yesterday. I know there is more to you than this, I have seen it. You are _better_ than this!" He dared touch her arm. "I will ask you once more, Achilles. Walk away with me. This is the last chance either of us have for the life we spoke of in the sea. Do you remember?" He ran his palm down to her wrist then grasped her hand tightly. "Don't do this."

Achilles stared at him and couldn't help but remember that one perfect night. Despite herself, she found something deep within her start to crumble. But she clenched her jaw and steeled herself. She had a destiny to fulfill and it did not include the younger Trojan prince. Her destiny lay with the elder. Breaking his stare and looking away she said softly but firmly, Embarrass yourself no longer. Go back to your Spartan Queen and see to it I never look upon you again."

"Paris, get inside before I drag you myself. I will not have our father losing you twice in one war, now move!"

He didn't know whether he felt nervous, excited, heartbroken or just plain sick but he somehow turned and walked himself away from the warrior woman he had believed he would spend the rest of his life with and in through the gates he once knew he would never see again. He was instantly swept up in a swarm of people seeking to care for him, tend his wounds, change his clothes, feed him, bathe him. But without a word he brushed them aside and ran, ignoring any and all atempts to get his attention. He didn't stop until he stood atop the wall, gazing out over the battlefield. He needed to watch this.

With the gates of Troy firmly closed, Achilles and Hector silently sized each other up. And as a final insult Achilles reached up and pulled her helm off, tossing it carelessly aside then running her fingers through her hair. She glared. "Now you know who you're fighting!"

* * *

Well, I hope you're all still enjoying my probably temporary revival. If I know myself at all I'll get distracted by the Pirates one I'm working on and forget all about Troy soon enough.Lol. I was thinking of posting that one actually: Barbossa has a daughter. Joins the movie from the first attack on Port Royal. A bit of a WillOC but I don't know if they'll actually 'get together'. No Liz bashing either. I like that character too much :) What do you think, sound any good?

Oh, and I'm still undecided as to whether to kill Hector or not. What's the general opinion? Want to see him live (which could lead to some interesting dialogue as to the reason her for uncharacteristic display of mercy) or do you want me to really challenge myself and see how Paris reacts to her killing his brother (which could also lead to some interesting dialogue but probably not a very happy ending)? Let me know your ideas cos I'd hate to disappoint you.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30:

Andromache screamed. Her knees buckled. Some part of her mind was aware of Helen's comforting embrace but she knew nothing but heartwrenching agony. Within moments her entire body was wracked with sobs echoed by many others who felt grief but not nearly as much as she.

Her husband had fallen.

Paris felt his entire world crumble. In the distance he saw Hector on his knees, all his strength gone. Achilles stood over him, raised her blade and brought the bronze down in a sweeping arc, the blade connecting with a sickening crunch. His brother collapsed in the dust, writhing in pain for a moment, then giving the last shudder of the dying, the one that showed their final breath leaving them, and then he was still. Achilles strode to her chariot and snatched up the length of rope that had bound him minutes before and walked to the fallen prince. Then, in a moment of indecision, she tossed the rope aside, spat on the body then jumped up into her chariot, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake as she sped away.

The moans and cried of the onlookers were lost on Paris. He watched her go and felt sick. His brother was dead. The one who had always been there for him, looked after him, loved and protected him when no one else would. The one he had looked up to ever since he could remember. Hector was dead. Gone. Never coming back.

He stared at the body of one he had loved so much and couldn't understand it. Paris could see him, could see the body right there in front of him, and yet Hector wasn't there. He was dead. And as the reality of it sank deep into his heart and he felt the crushing weight of grief pressing down on him he knew the kind of fury that would have driven Achilles to seek vengence. His hands all but shook with it. And the memory of holding the sword of Troy to her throat, seeing her blood smeared on the shining blade taunted him, mocked him with a missed chance - one of many - that would have spared him this pain. How he wished he had killed her!

His jaw clenched and his hands fisted so hard his short nails dug into his palms and he knew with unwavering certainty that one day soon he would find a way. And he would take pleasure in it. He would kill her even if it meant surrendering his own life along with hers.

* * *

Achilles didn't care that the entire Greek army was watching her return, driving her chariot slowly through the masses to her camp and her tent. It didn't matter that the king of kings had sent a man to watch the fight then sprint back to him with the outcome as soon as it haooened so he could pretend it was all his brilliant idea. Nothing mattered to her. All that mattered was that they knew what she had done and that the bloodied sword she held in her hand, not to mention the eye witness trotting up the ramp to Agamemnon's ship at that very moment, was plenty proof enough. They knew she had returned the boy to the city, they knew she had killed the hero of Troy. They knew so much and yet so little. They knew Hector had fallen but they knew nothing of what that final blow had cost her. She would remember that moment for the rest of her life, however long that was.

She said nothing to anyone when she reached her men. She just handed the horse to the nearest soldier, and walked to her tent, thrusting her sword into the sand before entering. She would clean in later.

She stripped off her armour and threw it angrily aside. Right at the moment she didn't care if she never wore it again. She heaved a great sigh of relief and finally allowed herself to take the weight off her left leg. The blood flowed steadily from a gash high on her hip and for a moment worried people had noticed but quickly dismissed the idea. They were focusing so much on the blood that coated her sword they would barely think to look her over for injuries. She was the great Achilles. Nothing could harm her.

She limped to her chest to retrieve the needle and threat then sat heavily on her bed, not bothering to clean the wound before she began stitching. With each pass of the needle through her flesh she flinched but cared little for the pain. Her mind was back on the battlefield, during the last moments when victory was certain and she had made the choice that could very well shape the course of destiny. What might have hapened, she wondered, if she had chosen the other path? Would she one day regret ending things the way she had?

Achilles knew with a certainty she rarely felt that she never would.

* * *

The people of Troy had already begun to gather at the city gates when King Priam reached them. He met no one's eyes, staring only at the gradually opening doors and the horror that awaited him, the kind of horror no parent should ever have to bear. Paris appeared in front of him, having just descended from the stairs opposite. Priam walked to his now only son and touched his face, wordlessly welcoming him home and thanking the gods for his safe return but unable to speak through the lump of grief lodged in his throat. Paris was equally silent and remained close, offering and receiving support as they waited for Hector's body to be brought inside the city.

The soldiers carried him reverently upon their shoulders, careful not to harm him even in death, walked toward the waiting family and placed him gently on the ground. Priam reeled back as if from a physical blow and all the colour drained from Paris' face, his eyes closing in pain. His brother's left temple and cheekbone were a mass of swolled bruising and his lip was split. Blood flowed, dark and thick from beneath his armour and the smell of it turned his stomach. But Paris found he could not take his eyes from the spear head lodged so firmly in his shoulder, piercing bronze and flesh to the bone. Another surge of rage bubbled within but he smothered it, ingoring it until he could channel it in the right direction.

Achilles. She would feel the full force of his pain and she would die hating herself for all she had done to him and his family.

But one of the soldiers, still kneeling by Hector's body, suddenly froze, listening. He leaned forward, his ear over the prince's mouth and waited. Then he turned to stare up at the king and prince and exclaimed, "My lords, the prince still breathes!"

* * *

I really hate that I tacked that last bit onto the end. It ruined all my depressing stuff. I wanted to save it for the next chapter in the hopes a few of you would think I was the slayer of heroes. But I dreaded the bitch-slapping I'd get if I let you believe I'd actually killed him.Lol. So, what do you think? Good? Bad? Ugly? Let me know cos the next chapter's in the pipeline as we speak.

Take care. Hugs!


	31. Chapter 31

Yo. I'm back. I hate to say I but I actually forgot about this story for months. Haven't even thought about it. But, in my defense, no one else has been updating their stories either. And I've changed my job, passed my driving test and had my heart broken in the time between the last update and now, so I've been a little distracted.

But a couple of weeks ago I found the extended edition of Troy, watched it and loved it (despite them totally obliterating the soundtrack and cutting one of my fave scenes). So I'm back into it for the moment.

Anyway, I'll stop my rambling and post what I've got. R+R when you're done. It's the feedback that keeps me posting cos if you don't know people are reading why post?

The sun was almost set. In the banqueting halls a grand feast was being held to celebrate Hector's survival and Paris' return. But Paris was not there as he should have been. He was in his chambers, pacing. He had bathed, eaten and been dressed in fresh clothes but he cared little for such things. He wanted to get back to her. His mind was spinning with unanswered questions that threatened to drive him mad if he could not ask them soon. With a sigh he walked to the balcony and leaned an arm against one of the pillars, staring out toward the beach. Campfires had already been started and if he was not mistaken the one farthest to the left was in the centre of the Myrmidon camp. He wondered if she was sat with the men, eating and talking, or if she was in her tent.

Was she in her tent alone? The question taunted him, although he knew it shouldn't. What was it to him if she took another lover? She had made it clear he was nothing but a passing amusement to her so it should not be any of his concern. But if it was none of his concern the very thought of it would not make his chest constrict and his gut twist.

He huffed in frustration and turned from the sight of the beach, deciding to go and see Hector. His brother still had not regained consciousness and was not yet out of danger but all his injuries had been tended. He was losing no more blood and looked to be improving. Andromache had not left her husband's side since Paris had told her the news. He gave a ghost of a smile at the memory of her face when she had digested what he said. He had never seen such a sudden shift from utter desolation to complete joy. It had warmed his heart when he thought it incapable of feeling anything but cold.

Just as he was about to reach the door it swung open to reveal Helen, looking flustered and worried. He had not spoken to her since his return, had avoided her in fact. He couldn't face her. How could he after everything that had happened to him since his capture, everything he had done and planned? He had planned to leave her, to disappear and never tell her why. After coming to a decision like that there seemed to be very little to say to her anymore.

She walked to him and grasped his upper arms, examining his face, then gingerly touched his split lip. She leaned in to kiss him but he turned his face away. Hurt gleamed in her eyes and he felt a stab of guilt at treating her this way but could think of nothing else to do. So he was honest. "I had a lot of time to think while I was there." She withdrew her hands and stepped back. She knew. "I can't do this. After everything we caused... everything that's happened..." Words died in his throat.

Helen nodded. "It doesn't seem right, does it? It doesn't seem fair. That we should still have each other after so many have lost husbands, fathers, sons." Although she had wanted to pretend otherwise, she had been confronted with the bitter truth of their selfishness after that first battle. The widowes screaming, the children watching their fathers burn. All of it had been their fault. The eyes of the people had looked to her with blame and she could do nothing but stand there. The happiness she had first felt upon escaping to the city of Troy had been poisoned by guilt and regret. As much as she wanted Paris, she knew they would never be as they were. And because of that she had to let him go. "We knew, didn't we. On some level we knew this war would be the end of us."

"I think we did." With a sigh he wrapped his arms round her and held her close. "But I will never regret it. Selfish as it was, taking you from him was worth it even if it was just for those few short months." He pressed a tender kiss to her cheek and let his forehead rest against hers. "I'll never be sorry."

They shared a warm smile that bridged the gap between their old relationship and their new one. "Nor will I."


	32. Chapter 32

After everything that had happened to her over the last few days, Achilles felt she was entitled to the long period of wallowing in misery she saw ahead of her. She had already decided to have nothing more to do with this war but could not decide what her next move should be. Should she leave? go home and prove her mother wrong for the first time in her life? Or should she stay to witness the fate of the Trojan city?

_And its prince,_ whispered a taunting voice she hadn't been able to silence since she shut herself in her tent with little more than a glare to Eudorus to say she did not wish to be disturbed. She had already drunk all the wine in her tent but was still too sober to face the rest of her men while ordering more be brought to her.

So she had to settle for just slightly inebriated, sat slouched on the edge of her bed with her arms folded like a sulking six year old girl. And, unless she was very much mistaken, she could feel the beginnings of a pout pulling at the corners of her mouth, forcing her bottom lip out just slightly.

She stared at the floor and tried hard to squash the images, memories and fantasies that filled her mind with things she had lost since leaving her home for Troy on this rediculous quest for glory. Thanks to the alcohol the picture was blurry and sound muffled thus dulling their impact but the overall feeling of misery and loneliness was just the same. It just took a little longer to filter through the haze.

Her eyes drifted closed with a sigh only to snap open moments later at the sound of her tent flap being pushed aside. Her pout vanished to be replaced by a scowl at the intruder. By the height and the broad shoulders she could tell it was a man but the heavy, dark cloak concealed every other feature. They merely stood there for a while, as if in indecision, but Achilles had no patience tonight. "Who are you?" she demanded abruptly, displeasure colouring her tone and fire snapping dangerously behind her eyes. "What do you want?"

The hood of the cloak was pulled back and for a moment Achilles forgot to breathe. "Paris?" She stood up abruptly. "What do you think you're doing here?! How did you even _get_ here?!" She was furious. How dare he take such a risk to get here, blatantly disregarding her last command to him. She wasn't even entirely sure which she was more angry about; gambling with his life or ignoring her orders?

"It wasn't hard to get to your camp along the beach. The Greeks don't have it as well covered as they like to think. Eudorus let me through to see you." He fought to keep his voice steady and devoid of emotion. She did not look pleased to see him. Had he honestly expected her to?

"I told you I never wanted to see you again. Why are you here?" she demanded, deciding she was more angry with him for disobeying her.

Paris stared her in the eye. "You let him live. I want to know why when you had been so determined to destroy him." He could still see the murderous gleam in her eyes, the dangerous growl to her voice. She had wanted Hector to die, had him on his knees before her, yet she spared him.

Achilles sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. "Let no one hear you speak of this!" she hissed. "I worked hard to see to it the Greek army believe him dead. Do not reveal the truth to anyone within this camp." She turned away and closed her eyes. Seeing him again was harder than she could have imagined. He looked different, like something had changed in him. His eyes no longer held the innocent sparkle she had found so fascinating. And she knew, despite her arguements to the contrary, that she had been the cause.

Through the gap between her skirt and shirt Paris saw the uneven, crooked stitches on her hip. He inclined his head toward the injury. "My brother got a lucky strike through?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. That was my own doing." He frowned in confusion. It wasn't like her to accidently cut herself with her own weapon. It was tempting to leave the silent question unanswered but found the words coming out anyway. "I couldn't very well go back to the camp with a clean sword after killing someone, could I? Not even I am that neat with my kills or quick with my cleaning up."

He stared at her in shock. "You... you did that on purpose?" She huffed and folded her arms. "Why did you do all this? Why the deception? If you did not want him dead why let everyone think you killed him?"

"Oh, I wanted him dead," she insisted, wanting to leave no room for misunderstandings."Believe me, I did. It was just enough for me to know that I could have."

There was something she wasn't saying. Over the last few days he had grown to know her better than she realised. She wasn't looking him in the eye, her mind was still whiring. "That isn't the only reason, is it?" She nodded defiantly. "I don't believe that."

She sighed. It was beneath her to lie to him. And damn him if his presence wasn't weakening her all over again. She had thought herself stronger than this. "He looks so much like you." The words were torn from her before she could stop them. "I looked into his eyes and all I could see was you. He was right there in front of me. I had the blade in my hand. Victory, revenge was mine and I could see it, I could all but taste it. But all that filled my head was how his death would hurt you and I couldn't do it. No more than I could kill you." There, she had said it. Now he could go away.

Something in him softened at her confession. "Then why not just leave him alive? Why make everyone believe him dead? Now the Greeks will attack for sure."

"Not for twelve days. I have already sent word to Agamemnon that a pact had been between Hector and I. No Greek will attack your city for twelve days. Do what you will to prepare in that time. Heal your wounded, bury the dead, evacuate the women and children. There is always an escape for the royal family. You can use that. Get as far from the city as you can. Try to save as many as you can but you get out because you know if--"

Paris closed the gap between them and grabbed her, silencing her by pressing his face close, their mouth inches apart. "You want me to just turn and run when so many before me have died to protect my home, make their sacrifices worthless to save my own life."

He wasn't going anywhere, she could hear it in his voice. "They didn't die for the city, the stone walls. They died to save your life. If you die here then their sacrifices will be truly worthless." She swallowed. "As will mine." Her eyes were burning, her vision blurring and she found herself fighting tears. "Do not make me watch you burn. Go while you can."

He shook his head. "Only if you come with me. Abandon this war, this quest for glory and come away with me." Denial shone in her eyes. "You said we could leave all this behind. We could walk away, go to your home and prove your mother wrong. Nothing has changed."

She closed her eyes. "Everything has changed, Paris." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Stay or go, we can never be. You know this." He tried to lower his mouth to hers but she turned her head. "You know it! Your heart is with your family and with them you should stay. They need you and you have too much compassion in your heart to just turn your back on them. And if you stay with them I cannot stay with you." A tearing ache throbbed in her chest making it hard to breathe. Why couldn't he have just stayed away? Why did he force her to send him away twice in one day? She didn't have the strength to do so again. Her heart wouldn't take it.

Paris grasped the back of her neck and pressed his forehead to her temple. "Do not do this, not now. Come to Troy with me. My father will--"

"Your father will have me executed."

"No. You will be safe, you have my word. Just come with me now. Do not make me leave you to this." He tried to guide her toward the tent flap but she wouldn't move. "Why will you not fight for us?!" he demanded. "Why do you just stand there and let this slip through your fingers when all you need do is choose to hold onto it?! My family are not the heartless tyrants you describe. If you went before them to tell them you had left the Greeks, would fight for Troy, they would listen to you." He was asking a lot of her, he knew, but he would risk this and more for her. Was it so much to ask that she feel the same?

"I seriously wounded their Prince. Do you really think they will care what side I fight for? I all but decapatated your army and you want me to walk in through those gates and say, 'I am very sorry. I do not want to be Greek anymore. Can I be a Trojan now?' I will be shot before I even get to the palace, with or without you by my side. I will help you and your people in whatever way I can but I will do it my way. From this side of the wall."

"I do not care about which side you fight for. I care that you still live when this war is over."

"Then let me go my own way. I know war. I know how to survive them. You, on the other hand, do not. So go home, take what provisions you need and run."

There would be no changing her mind. He couldn't understand her decision but he had no choice but to accept it. For a moment he considered trying to forcibly drag her from this place but quickly disgarded the idea as suicidal. He gave a formal bow and fixed her with distant, hurting eyes. "Very well, my lady. If that is your will, then I shall leave you. Farewell, Achilles."

He turned to leave but before she knew what she was doing she had darted forward. "Paris, wait." She grabbed his arm and pulled him back to face her. She had to make him see. "I do not choose this because I no longer want you. I choose this because..." She sighed. "Because the only thing I want is to know you are safe and happy. And I do not think you would be either of those things if you stayed with me."

Paris gave the barest smile. "Is that not for me to decide?" Once again he closed the distance between them and this time left no room for compromise. He wrapped an arm round her waist and weaved his free hand through her hair. He waited for her to fight him, to push him away and make him leave. She did nothing. And that was all the consent he needed. He captured her mouth in a fiery kiss full of need and felt her entire body go weak in response. Just one more time, he told himself. Although he knew full well that once more would never be enough.

So, that's it for now. I hope you're not disappointed. I'll try and get cracking on the next chapter as soon as I can. I'm not sure where I'm going to go with it yet but that's half the fun of writing I guess.lol

Take care. xxxxx


	33. Chapter 33

Hey, check me out! 3 new chapters in less than 6 months! Whoop! Thanks for all the reviews. They've been wonderful encouragement. The more people I know are waiting to read more the worse I feel about keeping you waiting. And it's the guilt that has me posting this now instead of going to bed like I should and updating tomorrow.Lol.

* * *

Achilles awoke to Paris' deep, even breaths caressing the back of her neck. It felt so odd to lay with him this way, on her side with him behind her, his whole body touching hers and holding her close as if he was fighting to keep her even in rest. No one had ever held her like this. All her other lovers had been casual, only wanting the few brief moments of pleasure to be had in her bed. Nothing more. Nothing like this. She sighed and closed her eyes again. Just for now she would pretend it could be. She had found her solace, her haven, and for a little while longer she would allow herself to believe it was for always. Snuggling down into his embrace she fought the inevitable dawn with everything she had.

She lost track of how long she rested there listening to his breathing and counting his heartbeats against her back. But all too soon she felt him stir, his hand running soothingly up and down her back, making her shiver. He kissed her shoulder then nuzzled into her neck and wrapped his arms tight around her in a hug. But within moments his questing fingers were searching out more interesting areas to caress and turning her shivers to flame. Looking over her shoulder at him she smiled. He wasn't even half awake and he was already groping her. This morning looked promising.

Paris wished every morning could be like this, waking to the scent of Achilles on his skin and the feel of her against his body. Nothing he had ever known could compare. He felt her tense and gasp when he found a spot she particularly liked and smiled against her neck. He kissed his way up to her jaw then back to her ear where he nipped and licked the tender flesh, making her shudder.

"Come away with me," he whispered pleadingly.

Achilles felt her stomach lurch and her good mood slip but refused to be drawn into another arguement. They didn't have much time left together and she wanted to spend as much of it as she could having moments just like this one. So she turned in his arms, an indulgent smile on her face, and kissed him without saying a word.

* * *

"You should go."

They sat on the shore side by side, his arm around her shoulders, hers lying down his leg, caressing the inside of his knee. She fondly recalled discovering the night before that the Trojan prince was ticklish there.

He kissed her temple. "Only if you come with me."

Achilles kept a strangle hold on her temper and frustration. If he asked this of her one more time she would not be responsible for her actions. "We have been through this. More than once." She turned and rested her forehead against his neck. "I cannot." The words hurt but she had to say them. How she wished she could walk into Troy by Paris' side and be accepted but she knew it would be suicide to even attempt such a thing.

And even if they would welcome her into their homes, she did not want to stay in Troy. Apart from the man now sat by her side the city held nothing for her. She wanted to go home. This whole ordeal since arriving on the Trojan beach had left her aching and exhausted. The death of Patroclus had nearly destroyed her. And her undefined and uncontrolable relationship with Paris was a slow burn of torture.It was all too much and, childish as it sounded, even to her own mind, she wanted her mother and the comfort and advice she had always been happy to give.

When she had left she had been so convinced they would never see one another again that now, when her safe return was almost assured, she could hardly wait to go back and embrace her mother and tell her she had been wrong.

But she had a war to sabotage before she left and until that was done nothing was certain.

"Then I will come away with you," he said. "We can go wherever you wish. To your home then beyond. What about Egypt? I have heard the most wonderful things about that country. We could travel, explore, and no on need ever know who we are, where we're from. It could be a fresh start, just you and me." His embrace tightened as he talked and she could hear the youthful enthusiasm at his new idea. Or maybe it wasn't new. Maybe he had been cultivating it for a while. She couldn't help but smile.

"Tell me of these things you have heard," she said against his skin, marvelling at the silken texture of it beneath her lips.

Paris shook his head. "No. If you wish to know you must come with me."

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist. Just for a moment she indulged his fantasy. "Only if we can visit my mother first. Oh, the look on her face when I present a Trojan Prince as my captive."

He smiled into her hair. "I thought I was your guest," he teased.

"I cannot very well tell her that. I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

"Do you not think she would notice the difference? We hardly behave as captive and captor, do we."

"Then I will just have to keep you tied up."

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

She nipped his chin. "You were not objecting last night." Paris laughed then lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss.

When they parted Achilles' face was sombre once again. "You really must go."

Paris gave a sad smile and rested his forehead against hers. "What about Egypt?" he asked softly.

She touched his face. "You know as well as I, it can never be."

He sighed and nodded. "But it felt good to pretend for a moment." He kissed her again. It was long, it was slow and it was far too close to a goodbye.

She blinked away the sudden tears and went to pull away from his embrace but he resisted. "No, Paris. Go."

"Promise me I will see you again." His stare was anxious, almost desperate. "Do not leave without telling me. Promise me, Achilles, or I will come looking for you myself."

And she knew he would kill himself trying. Sometimes she hated him for his stubbornness "As you wish. I promise. Before this war is over you will see me again." She stood and pulled him to his feet. "Now, go. You risk too much staying as long as you have."

"It is worth the risk and more." He held her tightly against him and he felt her hands shaking as she returned the embrace. He kissed the top of her head. "I will hold you to your promise." Her arms slid around his neck and the next thing he knew she was kissing him hard. Her fingers were in his hair and she was holding his mouth to hers like she would never let him go. His hands slid down her body to grasp her bottom and for a moment he entertained the thought of taking her again. But, even if he thought she would allow it, he knew he would never have the strength to leave her once they were naked in her bed.

Achilles' heart was pounding. As much as she knew it had to be this way she couldn't accept that the moment had finally come. It was really over. Once he had left it would never be the same. Although she intended to keep her word, when she next saw him it would be brief and it would be the last time. And something deep within her rebelled at the inevitability of it. Inside she was screaming at the injustice of the world. But she knew there was nothing she could do.

Breaking the kiss, she kept her eyes firmly shut but could not let go of him. "Whatever becomes of us after today, always remember that you have achieved the impossible. You tamed the beast in me. And I will never be the same."

The ache in her eyes was almost more than he could bear and Paris found himself blinking away his own tears. He cupped her face in his hands. "I will see you again." He kissed her hard once more then turned before he could reconsider. Walking away was the hardest thing he could have imagined, especially when he heard her shuddering breath as she watched him go. But his mind was already working, planning. He had much to do if he wanted to keep her with him when she came to tell him goodbye.

* * *

Not a whole lot going on in this chapter and for that I'm sorry. I just thought there should be a more personal moment between these two before we carry on with the rest of the story. Sorry if it drags. I'll try and get it moving in the next one.

Anyway, take care and let me know what you think.


	34. Chapter 34

Ok, I'll admit it. 6 months is one hell of a long time and I am deeply sorry. I'll try to get my ass in gear. My muse died for quite a while and it took a slight verbal kick up the butt to get it back. So thanks to everyone who reviewed since my last post but especially to ImaKickYoAs. Your timing was perfect and was just what I needed! :) So here's the next installment. Enjoy. xxx

* * *

Achilles' tent was achingly empty that night. Paris' scent still clung to the furs on her bed and the torture of it was almost her undoing. So, like the coward she was beginning to feel, she ran from the pain she found in the lonely, empty hell that, not long ago, had been her sanctuary.. She walked through the camp and let the murmuring voices of the soldiers drown out the remembered sound of her lover's gentle whisper.

Lost in her thoughts it took her a moment to recognise the name she heard being called as her own. Odysseus was sat with a few of his men by the fire and beckoned her over. She gave a half hearted smile and walked to join him, sitting down beside him.

The older man watched her in silence for a while. There was such a deep sadness in her and without asking he knew it had to be because of the younger Trojan Prince, now the only one. He wanted to make her talk but could tell by the set of her jaw that even his skilled words would not be enough to coax details from her, not in front of the other men, some of whom were giving her condemning looks for sleeping with the enemy, others giving her looks of awe for slaying their greatest adversary. So he settled for a comforting hand on her back and was somewhat comforted himself to find she didn't tense or withdraw at the gesture.

The light from the flame was hurting her eyes but Achilles couldn't look away. Whenever she did she was confronted with soldiers who stared with pride or accusation. She neither wanted nor deserved either, nor did she want to think about either event that inspired such a passionate response in total strangers. Thinking about defeating Hector filled her with anger and shame. Thinking about Paris... Well... it was just better for all involved if she didn't think about Paris.

"That's good," she heard Odysseus say and she turned her head to see what had caught her friend's attention. It was a toy horse a soldier was whittling, a pile of wood shavings at his feet showing he had been working on it for some time.

When Achilles glanced at the king's face her blood ran cold. He was very still, thoughtful, calculating. He had an idea. And Odysseus' ideas never worked out well for the opposition.

She caught the man's eye and sent him a questioning look. He frowned briefly and shook his head. Not yet. He would tell her soon but not yet, when his plan was only half formed. She nodded and rose to her feet. Placing a hand on his shoulder she bent at the waist and lightly kissed his cheek. Before he could say anything to her she was gone, weaving her way through the masses of men back to her camp. Back to her cold and lonely bed.

* * *

The task was finally completed. The massive wooden structure was finished and all camps and ships were gone. Dead soldiers lay scattered about, their bodies painted to appear diseased, struck by plague. Now all that remained was for the remaining Greeks to climb in and wait. Achilles, clad in her shining golden armour, helm in hand, stood beside Odysseus and stared up at the impressive structure. She had to admit, the men had done a very good job.

She sighed. "Agamemnon will kill them all, Odysseus. Men, women, children - all of them. You know that and yet you help him." Her voice was so low and the following silence so long she didn't think he had heard her.

But he had. "I am the king of Ithaca, not Troy. My loyalty is to Ithaca. If this plan works, the war ends in a night. And my men can sail home to their wives." He could imagine the carnage, the utter devastation they would leave in their wake if they succeeded and it made his gut lurch. But he knew that if he failed Agamemnon because of an attack of conscience, Ithaca would be next on Agamemnon's list. His home, his family, gone. It was his responsibility to ensure that didn't happen. And if another city had to fall for that to happen, so be it.

Achilles' answering silence disturbed him. This had never bothered her before and it wouldn't normally bother her now. "It's not Troy you're worried about, is it?" he asked angrily, hardly believing what he knew to be true. "It's one Trojan. One Trojan Prince." He was furious at her selfishness. "You would throw everything away, destroy all we both love, for one stupid, cowardly boy?!"

She glared openly at him, her eyes spitting blue flame. His raised voice had drawn the attention of the surrounding soldiers but Achilles did not care. "I have always loved you as a brother," she said, her tone close to a growl. "But if he dies because of your plan, you will never sail home to your wife." She pushed her helm onto her head and turned on her heel, springing up from the sand and hauling herself to the wooden horse's head to await the Trojans and their inevitable stupidity.

* * *

It was hot. It was very hot. And the smell was terrible. When Achilles, Odysseus and his men had clambered into the wooden horse the sun had barely cleared the horizon. Now it was well past noon and Achilles was beginning to wonder if they had misjudged the Trojans' vanity. There had been no sign of them all day.

She shifted a little and winced at the stiff muscles in her back. With the back of her hand she wiped beads of sweat from her forehead then replaced her helm. She would show no weakness in front of these men, not even to the sweltering heat. She glanced over her shoulder at the men down below, sat uncomfortably in the horse's feet and was grateful she was not among them. Having been in this wooden structure for hours, several men had needed to... relieve themselves and had not been able to leave the horse to do it. Yes, better to be sat up higher in the heat than down below, slightly cooler but covered in...

"They are coming!"

Odysseus' rough whisper almost made Achilles jump and within moments every man was fidgeting, anxious to move, to escape this furnace and breathe clean air. The scrape of armour against wood was alarmingly loud.

"Be still!" Achilles commanded, her whisper holding just as much authority as her shout. At once the men froze and listened to the approaching men, peering through the cracks to watch.

She leaned forward, her head level with what would have been the horse's right eye, and let herself smile a little, feeling her gut give a lurch.

There he was. And they were continuing the deception. Paris was dressed as Hector would have been, as the king's heir. He looked good. Had it really only been ten days? It felt like a lifetime had passed.

She listened to their predictable boasting and had to fight back a laugh. Did they honestly think their gods had delivered them from the hands of the Greeks?

But apparently they did. "This is a gift," they said. "We should bring it to the Temple of Poseidon."

"I think we should burn it," Paris stated and Achilles nodded to herself in agreement. That was the smartest thing she had ever heard him say. And yet they ignored him.

"Burn it? My prince, it is a gift to the gods!" he was told.

Priam said, "By honoring the gods as we do they spared Hector's life." Achilles' blood ran cold and a ripple of tension ran through the men. "That warrior woman could have finished him yet she walked away! Clearly that was intervention from Apollo." Her entire body went ramrod stiff and she didn't dare move a muscle. She silently begged Paris to say nothing. She could still talk her way out of this as long as he...

"It was not the gods that spared Hector. It was Achilles! _She _let him live. For me!"

The silence that followed Paris' statement was deafening. She hadn't noticed how much noise the soldiers were making until they stopped. The colour drained from her face and the world spun. This could not be happening!

"Father, burn it!"

Oh, how she wished they would. But she knew better. She was more than grateful she had chosen to put herself in the horse's head, out of sight and line of fire. Just those few short words, spoken with such passion and conviction, had condemned her, branded her. Without a direct order from their king, these soldiers would attempt to execute her, the traitor, at the first opportunity. With wide, panicked eyes she looked behind her where Odysseus was glaring at her, his stare full of fury and betrayal. He would not defend her now.

* * *

It had taken them hours but the Trojans had finally brought the horse and it's secret occupants to the courtyard outside the temple. By the time it had reached it's destination Achilles' nerves were all but shot. At every jolt and jerk she expected to feel a knife in her back or at her throat. And at that moment, with her life and reputation lying in tattered, shredded ruins, she had no heart to defend herself.

They were surrounded by music, singing, people shouting and crying out for joy. There were street performers and dancers and stalls selling food. The scent of burning offerings in the many temples drifted through the air and mixed unpleasantly with the stench of sweat from the men pressed in so close within the horse. If she did not escape this wooden prison soon Achilles knew she would go mad.

But then she saw him again, standing on the palace balcony, his brother at his side. She made herself ignore the restless fidgeting and angry muttering from the horse's belly at the sight of the man she was supposed to have killed. Just the sight of Paris stood there, alive and well and happy, was enough to put her mind at ease.

He passed Hector a cup which he accepted with the hand not restrained by the tight sling he wore. They tipped a little wine onto the ground for the gods then drank together. The elder brother's face was still bruised and pale and his posture lacked the confidence it had held not two weeks ago. But his strength would return in time, that much Achilles knew.

They were joined on the balcony by three women, all beautiful, all smiling, one carrying a baby. The red haired mother ran a caressing hand down Hector's arm and he turned, kissing the child on his bald head. Andromache and Scamandrius, Achilles realised. And out of the other two it was easy to see which was Helen. Her blonde hair gleamed in the late afternoon sun and her smile dazzled even Achilles. But what surprised her was the difference in their behaviour compared with Hector and his wife. She frowned. If she did not know any better she would think there was nothing between them.

And then they were joined by another man, one she did not recognise. He was handsome, closer to Hector than Paris in both appearance and age, and was dressed almost as elegantly. Helen looked up at this man and everything made sense. Her face glowed with happiness and she took his hand. The brunette elbowed Paris in the ribs but he just shrugged with a grin. Why shouldn't he be pleased for them?

But then his eyes fell on the wooden horse once again and his smile faltered, pain and loss clouding his features and Achilles felt that look like a kick to the chest. He believed she had left. He thought she had broken her promise and left without saying goodbye.

With his eyes still fixed on the horse Achilles could almost imagine he could see her, crouched uncomfortably and staring at his perfect face. She pressed her palm to the rough wood and willed him to have faith. "Believe in me," she whispered, her quiet plea lost in the sounds of Troy celebrating her great victory over the Greeks.


	35. Chapter 35

You probably aren't that bothered with why it's taken me ages to update () but here's the list of excuses anyway. Wouldn't be me if I didn't at least try and explain. Well, I've moved house, joined a rock band, all but lost my job so I'm looking for another one, and my dog was hit by a van last week so I've been looking after him. Trying to get a 2 year old cocker spaniel to stay still when he's bored isn't overly easy. but it's keeping me on my toes!lol.

This chapter's a bit longer than usual cos I couldn't really think of a good place to stop. I've got the rest of this story and a sequel roughly planned in my head and now I'm finally getting organised I should be able to just crack on with it. I have literally only just finished typing this one up, haven't had a chance to read it back or anything and there are a few bits I'm not overly happy with. If you read anything that you think could be done better please let me know and I'll try again. I tried to take my time but I'm starting to get all excited about finishing the movieverse and at last getting to my own stuff so if some sounds a little rushed tell me to get my act together. :)

* * *

The sun had long since set but the Trojans hadn't even thought of ending the celebration until the last of the wine had been drunk and the last of the fires had burned down to the cinders. Achilles had drifted into an exhausted doze around twilight, her fist tight around the hilt of her sword. She didn't trust these men not to slip a blade between her ribs while she slept and jerked awake to the sound of creaking wood and shuffling feet. But they weren't looking at her. The Greek soldiers were focused on the deserted Trojan courtyard.

Temporarily free from the glares of hatred and silent death wishes Achilles cast a brief glance toward the balcony through the crack in the planks but saw nothing but marble pillars. Not a soul stired in the darkness. For that she was thankful. The longer it was before the alarm was raised, the bigger head start Achilles would have over the waiting army.

She tensed herself in readiness and waited for the men to pull aside the loose planks. Listening intently she counted the sounds of quiet feet landing on trampled ground until almost all where out before opening her own exit and smoothly gliding down a rope from the horses head to land almost silently at its feet. Every muscle in her body was tense and she expected the shouts to start at any moment. But the Trojan guards were completely unaware, lulled into a deep, untroubled sleep by wine and victory. They heard nothing of the Greeks till the bronze swords were thrust into their flesh and by then it was too late to make a sound.

Achilles watched for a few moments and was amazed at the disgust she felt for these soldiers who had been her brothers only yesterday. What honour was there in butchering the helpless? At least give them a chance, let them up and give them a sword rather than gutting them on the floor like animals. All remaining respect she had for these men evapourated and all she wanted to do was get them out of her sight. So with a pang of regret she turned her back on the slaughter and made for her only goal. The Palace.

* * *

Odysseus saw a flash of gold in the corner of his eye and turned to see Achilles leaving. His fury and hurt came at him in a rush, descending in a red haze, and before he had given it a thought he had lifted a hand and signaled his five best men. Without a word he pointed after her, silently gestured for stealth and watched as they smirked to one another before giving chase.

Behind him the huge gates of the city creaked and groaned as the heavy hinges were swung inward, exposing the vulnerable Trojan streets to the eager, hungry Greek army.

* * *

Achilles' stride faltered at the first of the screams and she skidded to a halt. She had heard screams just like these countless times and yet now... now it made her want to turn around and defend these people who had no idea their homes were about to be raised to the ground, their families executed before their very eyes.

She looked around, at the buildings and temples and market stalls cleared and covered for the night, and saw them for what they were. Not property to be bought, sold or stolen, but homes. Paris' home. The screams and shrieks of terror, the smoke she could already smell in the air, didn't just mean the fall of Troy and victory for the Greeks, but the destruction of everything Paris knew and loved. His whole life was being stolen from him and it was her countrymen that did it. Achilles was ashamed.

She jerked round at the sound of clanking armour and realised the rest of the army had caught her up, bypassing the outskirts and heading for the centre, where the larger houses and richer families lived. She stepped back into a doorway out of sight and let them overtake her. Seeing their faces, the glee with which they attacked the city around them snapped her back into focus. She was here for a reason, not just to observe.

So she left the shadows and dived into the chaos, leaving the flames and the blood and the screaming behind her. She could do nothing for these people and was not arrogant enough to think she could take on the whole of Agamemnon's army and live to save the one she was here for. No, she had her mission and would see it through. Even if it killed her.

Men and women cried out and dived out of her way, clutching their children to them protectively when they saw her running with her sword drawn but she barely noticed. Her eyes scanned the surrounding Greek faces for any that would hinder her but saw nothing. Turning a corner she followed the flow of men up a wide stone staircase, her lighter step overtaking their heavy lumbering easily. When at the top she hesitated, looking left and right, and was brought to a standstill by the simplest of details.

She didn't know the way. From where she stood she could see nothing but the closest buildings and rooftops. Cursing under her breath she chose left and ran.

* * *

His heart was almost as heavy as his armour. Paris, sword and bow in hand, tried his best to appear focused as he followed Andromache and Hector through the palace to the garden. But his mind was elsewhere. Behind him he could hear Helen and Lysander walking, guiding the women and children. He should have felt something at seeing her with another man but there was nothing. Not a pang, not a twinge, nothing. Just... relief.

Despite their relationship becoming one of close friendship he had still felt guilt at his almost-infidelity with Achilles. So seeing that another man made her happy (he could even admit she looked happier than when she had been with him) he could only be pleased.

But that wasn't what he thought of now.

Now he could only think of Achilles, her disappearance and how much he worried for her. Where was she? Had she hidden with the Greeks or did she really leave? She had given her word that he would see her again but could he really expect her to stay and risk her life when faced with such an oportunity to get away? He couldn't be sure. So while he walked his eyes were constantly moving, his ears constantly straining for any sign of her. But the further they walked and the closer they got to the hidden escape the further his hope drifted. Maybe she had abandoned them to their fate after all.

* * *

The screams were making her dizzy. She was hot, tired and frantic and the smoke from the burning buildings was making her eyes sting. Ascending a flight of stairs she reached a courtyard that looked remarkably like the last three courtyards she had run through. She turned a slow circle for anything to point her in the right direction and was just about to dart down a street to her right when a flash of familiar armour caught her eye. She stared after the retreating figure with frown of disbelief. Could it really be that easy?

Twirling her sword round her hand in anticipation she followed Agamemnon at a discrete distance, determined not to be seen until she was ready. He disappeared into the dark interior of what had to have beens the grandest temple she had seen since entering the city. Well, it had been before the Greeks arrived. Even as she stood there soldiers were pulling the statues down, stealing the gold and destroying anything they could lay their hands on. And in the midst of all that was an old man dressed in fine robes, absolutely beside himself at what was being done. "Priam," she said to herself then saw Agamemnon advancing on the man's back, spear in hand. She started forward to go his aid but before she could take half a dozen steps it was too late.

"Have you no honour?!" Priam cried, unheeded by the soldiers who continued to ransack the temple and steal anything not nailed down. The old king raised his sword in fury but before he could bring in down Agamemnon had struck, thrusting the bronze tipped spear through his turned back so hard Achilles could hear the man's ribs snapping from where she stood, frozen with rage. Priam collapsed to the marble floor with a gasp of shock.

How dare he behave with such cowardice! Cutting him down without the honour and courage to look him in the eye as he did so! Achilles had believed she hated him before, but that was nothing to the utter disgust and contempt she held for him now, watching him callously wrench the spear free and step over the fallen king, leaving him to die in the already spreading puddle of his own blood.

Agamemnon walked toward a doorway at the rear of the temple without a backward glance, which suited Achilles just fine as she sheathed her sword and started after him, intent on taking her time pummeling him long before she ended his miserable life.

But as she also walked past Priam lying on the floor she felt his cold, wrinkled hand try to grab weakly at her ankle. She tried not to look but her eyes glanced down at him before she could pull away. His skin was already turning grey and his breath rattled in his throat. Recognition sparked behind his dull, tired eyes and his grasp became slightly firmer.

With a frown Achilles looked back up at Agamemnon's retreating figure, wanting with everything in her to take this chance which may be the only one she was ever offered, to punish the man that had made so many years of her life an unbearable misery. She even took half a step forward. But the groan of the dying man at her feet made her pause. Reluctantly looking down at him again she bit back a curse of frustration and right then wanted to hit Paris for making her care about people. Feeling pity for the dying was neither conveniant nor pleasant.

She sighed through a clanched jaw and abruptly crouched beside Priam, anxious for him to say whatever he had to so she could leave and catch up with Agamemnon.

"You are Achilles?" he rasped.

Impatience coloured her tone. "Yes," she snapped, wanting to ask him how many other blonde women were running around the city in golden armour. Why, when people knew their time was running out, did they insist on wasting what they had left with pointless questions?

"Thank you."

That brought her up short. "Excuse me?"

Priam blinked heavily and coughed thickly. "You gave my eldest son back to me, let Hector live when you could have finished him. Why? Why did you let him live?"

Achilles scowled in slight confusion. "Why do you ask that?" Hector's survival could have been an accident. Priam wasn't to know she had changed the angle of her swing at the last moment, deliberately catching Hector with the hilt rather than the blade. It was Paris she returned to his family, Paris who had been in the camp of the enemy, completely at her mercy for days. And she was being thanked for the return of Hector?

For a moment the old king's eyes regained some of their fire and she caught a glimpse of the strength he once held. "Your reputation preceeds you and it does not speak of your mercy. He killed your cousin and you had come to kill him. He was lying defeated at your feet and yet you did not finish him. I need to know why."

She paused to think for a moment. What should she tell him? That it was an accident, that she had believed him to be dead?

But she cast her mind back to that moment, remembered how she felt when she had the Prince of Troy kneeling before her, and found she had to answer him, had to tell him the truth. Looking at Priam's grey-skinned face she knew he would not live to speak to anyone after her. He would take her next words to the grave. What harm could there be in confessing to this one person what she would never utter to another living soul?

She dragged in a deep breath and gently took Priam's cold hand in hers. "Because I love his brother." She stared into his eyes and knew he could see the truth in the intensity of her gaze. "I could never hurt Paris that way." She had been keeping these feelings hidden for so long that speaking them aloud was almost a physical relief. "He has taught me so much. I never knew I could be so... at peace as I was..." She let the sentence trail off. There were no words to adequately explain how she felt. She could only say this. "I fight for Troy now, and for the man I love."

Of all the answers Priam had imagined in the days following Hector's survival and Paris' return he had never considered this. Paris had seemed subdued, distracted, and his relationship with Helen was forever changed, but had thought it merely the after effects of his captivity, the shock of almost losing his brother. But now he knew he had been wrong. His eye sight was fading but Priam could clearly see the light in her eyes when she spoke on his youngest son.

Had he been anything less than at death's door he would have been violently opposed to any union between the two. But now, with his end imminent, he found he could forgive the past. Yes, the woman before him had done some terrible things. But hadn't they all killed in times of war? And war was all this woman had ever known. Until Paris.

"Can it be true?" he asked, shocked. "Is the mighty Achilles' heart melting after all this time?" Somehow, despite everything, there was a kindness to his voice that even he had not expected to hear and surprise showed clearly on the woman's face.

She let herself smile a little. "I wouldn't say 'melted'. But it is beginning to thaw, despite my greatest efforts." She flinched as Priam suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood, his grip on her hand tightening. His time was almost up but she still had something to say. "And it is all your Paris' doing," she continued desperately wanting this man to understand before he left this world. "He has done what no one before him could. He tamed the beast in me. You should be proud of your youngest son, my lord."

Priam's breaths were coming in shallow gasps but still he placed his free hand over their clasped ones and gave her a tired, crooked smile. "I am," he breathed, his voice barely more than a gravelly whisper. "Tell him I am." He exhaled with a wet, undignified gurgle and slumped flat to the floor with a frothy red stream of blood flowing from his thin lips. His eyes were empty, glassy. and his face showed none of the pain he had battled through just to exchange words with her. He was at peace now.

Achilles' eyes were stinging again, only this time it wasn't from the smoke. She had just witnessed the passing of a great man, and she was sorry she had never known him.

Releasing his limp hand she stood and looked to the doorway to where Agamemnon had disappeared. She had lingered too long here. If she delayed any longer she may never find him. But the blood covering her palm drew her attention. She looked from the scarlet smears on her hand to the lifeless face of the late Trojan king, his body sprawled on the stone. With a sigh she crouched back down and arranged his body neatly, so when he was found he would appear dignified, as the honourable man he had been in life. She placed his hands on his stomach and straightened his head, taking the time to wipe the blood from his whiskered face and close his eyes. She briefly wondered what she could do for coins on his eyes then decided it wasn't her place. And a Greek soldier would only steal them.

When he was as presentable as she could make him she straightened up and placed her hand to her chest, bowing respectfully before leaving him to rest in the temple of gods that had turned their backs on him.

As she walked an awful thought occured to her.

When she found Paris she was going to have to tell him his father was dead. Her gut clenched at the thought. What would she say to him?

But as she rounded the corner her thoughts at once scattered and came into complete focus. Because she had just found the answers to two very important questions. Where had Agamemnon gone, and where did she need to go.

Because, not three buildings away was a grand courtyard. And on the other side of the courtyard was the palace.

* * *

I say again, some probably sounds a little rushed and I'm not overly happy with the death scene (i think they talk for too long), or a couple of other little bits i can't think of at the moment. but whatever you think, feel free to share. I'll get working on the next chapter soon as poss.

Hugz! xxx


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